


Blood in the Rivers

by OopsFanfiction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bi as hell reader, Canon Divergence, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Dorne deserved better, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oberyn Martell Lives, age gap, like from the get go, so i'm going to make it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 93,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OopsFanfiction/pseuds/OopsFanfiction
Summary: Y/N Tully always knew how to play the part of the perfect lady when someone was watching. It was a game she liked to play, knowing how to act in order to get what she wanted. But now, as the War of the Five Kings rages, Y/N knows she needs allies if she wants to keep her family safe and her head on her shoulders. But in this game, everything has a price.
Relationships: Ellaria Sand/Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/Reader, Oberyn Martell/Reader
Comments: 195
Kudos: 360





	1. Plots, Plots, Plots

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this was just supposed to be me trying to write smut about Oberyn and Ellaria and their lover but then The Plot happened and...yup. Here's part one of some nonsense.

Smuggling Sansa out of King’s Landing had consumed the youngest Tully. While she played the part of dutiful peon, renouncing her father, uncle, and cousin and their actions against the crown, she was plotting. Sansa was sweet and kind and everything Y/N knew she should be as a highborn lady. Watching Joffrey command Meryn Trent to beat and strip her cousin’s eldest daughter in front of a crowd had only driven her to near madness in her quest to protect Sansa. It only took a handful of weeks for the plan to be finalized. Murmurs of Stannis Baratheon’s impending attack were quickly sweeping through the Red Keep and all of King’s Landing. 

She set off toward the Keep’s rookery with two small missives neatly stacked together. An aged maester had been the same guardian of the ravens for decades. Blind in one eye and slow to walk, she knew her window was reasonable but still limited. He was also a loyal dog to the queen. Each of her movements would be whispered in Cersei’s ear by lunch.

She stepped into the rookery and resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose at the scent of shit and dirt and dust. It was just another reminder of how far away she was from Riverrun and its clean air, always scented with the mist and overgrown grasses.

The Maester stood slowly from his cluttered desk and offered her a small smile. “Ah, Lady Tully. How may I help you?” 

She held up the slips of parchment to make it look like a single letter. “A missive for my Uncle Hoster.” 

“Ah,” the maester said, the sound catching in his throat. “Another plea for him to see reason?” 

“Of course.” She handed over the carefully written and brief letter while tucking the other into her palm. The maester read it and nodded. “You are a service to your house, my lady.” 

She pressed a pleased smile to her lips and dipped her head demurely, as she had half a dozen times before. Edmure and Hoster were aware that she would be pressed to write stupid letters like the one in the maester’s spindly fingers. The only truth written in those missives were that she loved them. “I thank you for that.” She then plucked it from his fingers with another smile and started to walk backward toward the cage.

“May I send it for you, my lady? The ravens here tend to be fickle beasts if they do not know your face.” The maester smiled kindly and held out his hand for her letter again. 

But she shook her head and continued backward. It was true, usually her letters were taken directly from her desk and sent off without having to go to the rookery herself—but this called for a change. She’d visited the rookery last week to see how it was divided between the realms and she could time how quick she needed to be in her task; it had been under the guise of being lost looking for the Grand Maester to _“ask for guidance as to how to bring her errant father and uncle back under the guidance of the Crown_.” It was all so easy to play the part of mindless crown loyalist. “The ravens of Riverrun have always adored me—I do not see why these would be any different. But I do thank you for the offer.”

She skittered through the door and quickly found the correct batch of ravens and fastened the small slip of parchment to the raven’s leg and set it loose before flittering over to the ravens meant for Riverrun and tying the other. She set that one loose a little slower as she heard the maester step into the large cage with his uneven gait. She made a bit of a show of watching the raven fly away in the window and turned and heaved a hearty sigh. 

“They seem to like you.” He chuckled, another dry, rasping sound. 

“Yes, I suppose.” Another exaggerated sigh. “I do hope Lord Tully listens to reason this time.” She then curtseyed and walked away. The maester looked relieved as she said goodbye to him and took her leave of the rookery.

But it was done. 

And when the Red Keep was essentially barricaded against the coming attack, she knew her time had come. She slipped out of Maegor’s Holdfast without too much fanfare. Cersei was drunk and had requested more wine anyway. Y/N saw the opportunity for what it was and left in the Holdfast under the guise of serving the Queen, just ahead of schedule.

Sounds of the battle echoed through the strangely empty halls as she hurriedly made her way toward her destination. Quiet footsteps soon followed her and she skirted around a corner and pulled out the small dagger she’d hidden in her sleeve. But it was poor Sansa who had followed her—much earlier than what they had agreed upon.

“I-I’m sorry!” Sansa whimpered as she stared at the sharp edge of her “cousin’s” blade. 

“You are fine, my little one. I’m sorry I almost cut you.” She quickly hid the dagger away and took Sansa’s hand, leading her back toward her chambers. The older of the two was equal parts relieved and shocked to see the Hound waiting in Sansa’s rooms. “Sandor.” His name came like a rushed breath. “You are early.” 

“I’m not doing-”

“Take Sansa to Dorne.” 

Both of them gaped at the request. 

“What?” It was Sansa who finally broke the tense silence of the room. “Dorne? B-but, I-”

She gathered the Sansa’s hands in her own and kissed her shaking fingers. “You will be safe. Sandor will see you there without harm. Everyone will think you’ve gone North and scavenge and pillage looking for you. No one will think to look for you in Dorne. The Martells have no love for the Lannisters even with the betrothal of Trystane and Myrcella. They will know of your story.” She knew it to be a shaky alliance to begin with, especially with Myrcella being betrothed to Trystane. But betrothals could be broken and their memories were long. And this was the best option for Sansa. The only.

“You won’t come with me?” Tears gathered in her eyes. 

She shook her head. “I must let them think they’ve won. I still have a part to play in this game.” She then turned to the taciturn soldier. “What say you, Sandor? Will you deliver Sansa to Dorne? Keep her safe, unharmed, and untouched?” 

His burnt face twisted in a grimace. “I should take her North. Like I said-”

“But you will not. South is safe. Keep her safe.” She bent and pulled something from her skirts—a small satchel of coin. She pushed it into his hands when he didn’t move to accept it.

“I don’t want your fuckin’ coin-”

“This is for food and shelter during your travels. Take it. Now.” She only let herself smile when he did. “You may not believe in knighthood, Sandor. But you are the only man I’ve met who even compares to a true knight.”

The burnt man frowned at her words but didn’t say anything. He took several steps back as Sansa flung her arms about Y/N’s shoulders in a fierce embrace.  


“I love you.”  


“I love you, too, little one. Now, you must stay alive.” A handful more of quiet encouragements and goodbyes were spoken before she pulled a small sack from beneath Sansa’s bed and handed it to her. “A few dresses for the warmer weather. And I stole some lemon cakes from the kitchens.”  


Sandor snorted.  


Sansa nodded with tears in her eyes and let out a shaking breath as Y/N kissed her forehead. “Go, Sansa. Live.” She watched Sansa place a shaking hand in Sandor’s before they quietly disappeared into the night. 

Outside, the battle raged on. Y/N slipped out of Sansa’s chambers and walked toward the Holdfast once again. She hid away in a darkened passageway and once again drew her dagger. It didn’t take long for her to complete the final task of her plan for the night. She grabbed a jug of wine from the kitchens and let it slip from her fingers with a crash before turning the blade on herself. Pain bloomed through her stomach and her dagger clattered to the ground, slipping from her now-slick, reddened grip. “Help me!” She screamed, forcing tears to her eyes. “Help me!” 

##  **

Life in King’s Landing hadn’t particularly changed since the Tyrells had arrived. Of course, people whispered about Sansa’s disappearance—her favorite rumor was that Sansa turned into a wolf and raced into the battle herself. And Y/N’s stab wound had earned her a strange sort of awe around the court. Stabbed for wine, the stupidity of it all. The official story was that a kitchen maid had tried to steal some jewels (or just food, depending on who was asked) and little Lady Tully had caught the maid in the act before she fled into the night. They stopped by the time her wound had healed.  
  
As she sat across from Olenna Tyrell in the gardens, Y/N suddenly wondered if she had finally met an adversary worthy of her time or another ally. Margaery, the beauty and new betrothed to the Brat King, Joffrey after the ‘victory’ of the Battle of the Blackwater, seemed amiable enough as she sat beside her grandmother but a beautiful face often hid an ugly heart. Cersei was proof of that enough.   


“You know, a cousin of mine was nearly scandalized by your father,” Olenna said as the tea was poured.  


“Scandalized?” she parroted, feeling a smirk touch the corner of her lips. She knew exactly the story she was thinking of. “Surely not.” 

“Oh yes. Our father tried to marry her off to Brynden Tully and he said no. ‘No!’ like she was some underfed calf.” She laughed. “It was the most childish fit she’d ever thrown.” Olenna waved away the servants as soon as the plate of lemon cakes was placed upon the table, nearly tipping the bowl of berries. “She eventually married some Vyrwel boy. And your father,” Olenna’s dark eyes suddenly pinned her guest, “married your mother.”  


“I’ve heard stories of them, even in The Reach,” Margaery said with a kind smile.  
Something tight twisted in her stomach at that, as it always did when a beautiful woman fixed her with a gaze. “I’ve heard a song the Valemen sing. I was unaware that my parents’ union was such fodder for stories across The Realms.” She stirred a bit of honey into her tea, fighting a smile as she always did when she heard of her parents. Some claimed to know her parents as they truly were, but few did. Few knew their story as it actually happened.  


“Well, when someone as lofty as a Tully marries a lowborn girl nearly half his age--from Pentos, now less--it is sure to cause quite a stir.” Olenna arched an eyebrow, daring her to refute it. “No matter how pretty.”  


“Love is a precarious thing. I cannot fault my father for whom he loved.”  


“Love! Pah! Love is for stories and songs.” 

“Grandmother, please. I am to be married soon—you said you loved grandfather and I know my lord father loves mother.” 

“They learned to appreciate each other, dear girl. There is a difference.” 

“I believe in love,” Margaery said, full of conviction but still smiling.

“And you, Lady Tully? Little Fish? Do you believe in love? You are past the age of majority. How you have not yet been married off is a mystery. You are highborn. Wealthy. Beautiful. Did your parents always plan for you to be a septa? A silent sister?” Olenna asked. 

A poorly hidden titter nearly sloshed the tea from her cup. “Truly, I do not know.” 

The older woman hummed. “I still find it strange that you were not at least introduced to someone after your first flowering.” She sipped her tea. “Have you spoken with your father?” 

“No, my lady. He has taken to King Robb’s service.” 

“Oh, yes, and to leave your unwed daughter in the Lion’s Den.” She huffed. “Lord Tully, too.”

“Grandmother,” Margaery softly chided. 

“It is true and you know it.”

“It is true,” she acknowledged. But she trusted them just as they trusted her.

“But your uncle—he must have had some sense of duty to you.”

Y/N nodded. “Hoster Tully’s duty to me was to see me educated and fed. He succeeded at both. Exceeded at everything else a doting uncle usually deems necessary.” He had allowed her to train with blades and horses when she had excelled past her Maester and Septa’s teachings. It had been hidden from Court at Riverrun. But she had been a natural in that regard, too. She loved to spar and run wild with her horse in the fields and lands around Riverrun. It felt like another life. Or a lifetime ago.

Olenna leaned forward with an odd gleam in her eye. “Oh yes. I’ve heard you were sent as part of the Riverlands delegation when that band of raiders was running amok. The rest of the company left after Eddard lost his head—but not you. You stayed.” 

“Leaving Sansa alone in the capital was not an option.” 

“Yes, yes. Sansa Stark. The disappeared.” 

Margaery shifted in her seat and took a bite of lemon cake, eyes warm but still calculating. But she continued to let her grandmother steer the conversation.  
“I have been told you were quite close to your cousin’s daughter. She confided in you, did she not? About King Joffrey.” 

She took a sip of her tea and regarded the pair. Oh, yes. A formidable match indeed. This was either a half-hearted attempt at tricking her into admitting treason or a true plea for fact.

“Only Sansa would be able to divulge all the small details, I assume. But you will have to do, won’t you? Who else would know better in this wretched city?” Olenna pinned her with another stare. “We’ve heard some troubling tales. Is there any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated Sansa?” 

She hummed and spied a man passing by, almost hidden by the bushes and greenery. “King Joffrey, His Grace is very fair and as brave as a lion.”

Olenna huffed as her granddaughter rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, all Lannisters are lions. And when a Tyrell farts, it smells like a rose.” 

Margaery finally spoke, leaning forward in her seat, a sea of pretty blue fabric washing across the stone pavers as she moved. “But how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand? I’m to be his wife; I only want to know what that means.”

Keeping quiet at a time like this was a simple tactic. Needing information made people desperate. Or agitated.

“Are you frightened, child?” Olenna huffed. “No need for that. We’re only women here.”

“And the men in the bushes behind you?” 

“Loyal to me and only me.” 

“And who are you loyal to, Lady Olenna?” 

A small smile touched the woman’s lips. “You are a brazen one, aren’t you? Your father must be so proud.” 

And she could not stop her own smile. “He is. I’m sure.” 

“I am loyal to my family and my family alone. No harm will come to you, Little Fish.” 

That was enough for her, satisfied that the Tyrells were self-serving enough to keep her counsel. “Eddard Stark always told the truth.”  


“Yes, he had that reputation,” Olenna said with a nod.

“And they named him traitor and took his head. Joffrey did that. He promised he would be merciful and he cut Eddard’s head off. And he said that was mercy. Then he took Sansa up on the walls and made her look at it.” Rage bubbled under her skin as she remembered how broken Sansa had been, bleeding lip and tearful eyes, as Sandor lead her back to her chambers after that terrible scene. Someone as kind and pure as Sansa never deserved it. On the other hand, Margaery did not either. But there was a steely resolve and cunning tenacity that made her believe the Tyrell girl could bend just about anyone to her will. “He’s a monster.” There, she had said it.

“That’s a pity,” Olenna said, her tone making it seem like she’d had believed all the rumors anyway. Margaery sighed, looking disappointed. 

“Will you stop the wedding?” She asked. 

Olenna shook her head. “Have no fear. The Lord Oaf of Highgarden is determined that Margaery shall be queen. Even so, we thank you for the truth.”  


For a while, they simply spoke about the wedding details and she did find the pair’s wit quite enjoyable. They never minced words and appreciated how they instantly seemed to know that she could hold her own. 

“But if I never see another stitch of that red and gold, it will be too soon.” 

“It is as if you are marrying a Lannister instead of a Baratheon,” Y/N hummed, plucking a berry from the plate. “Would you prefer the black and gold?”

“She looks quite fetching in gold,” Olenna said with an easy smile, one of the few she noticed the Queen of Thorns only reserved for her granddaughter. “But what of you, Little Fish? Your colors are blue and red.” 

“I’ve never been fond of them. My father took the moniker of Blackfish and I have taken it as well. I much prefer black and red.”  


“Black and red,” Margaery laughed lightly. “Like a little Targaryen.” 

“Well,” she said with a light smile, “we both have scales.” 

Olenna tilted her head to the side, purveying the young woman in front of her for a moment. “Have you ever been to The Reach?” 

“No, my lady. I do hope to visit Oldtown one day.” She answered honestly, confused by the change of subject. 

Olenna clucked, smirk pulling at her lips. “Well, I have a proposition for you.” 

“Lady Tully.” The small group of women turned to see Tywin Lannister strolling into the gardens. “Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery,” he added, with a tip of his head. “May I speak with you, Lady Tully?” 

Y/N turned to Olenna, eyes pleading. Please do not make me leave with him.  


“Now.” Apparently that wasn’t an option.

She sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and stood, pressing another smile to her lips. “Of course.” She turned back to Olenna. “Thank you, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, for the tea.” 

“Of course, dear. You are always welcome at my table.” The Queen of Thorns, for her all her prickly nature and stinging words, actually looked troubled for the younger woman. “Take Ella with you. No young woman should be unaccompanied.” Another woman, probably one of Olenna or Margaery’s retinue, appeared as her name was said and tipped her head toward Tywin and Y/N in turn. 

Y/N nodded at them and made her way to Tywin’s side who quickly made it clear that Ella was to stay several paces back. Ella did as she was told but arched an eyebrow as she made eye contact with her one-time charge. “How can I help you, Lord Tywin?” She let him lead, further into the gardens, the greenery growing higher and thicker with each step. She never wanted to be near the old lion. His reputation preceded him in every way and the fact that he felt the need to be alone with her only served to increase her trepidation. They had been introduced only two days prior, by a smirking Cersei, who had boasted of her father’s achievements at length before mentioning, however briefly, that Y/N was “much more amiable than her cousins.” A tentative compliment, to be sure. The old lion had kissed her hand and smirked at her, rolling her stomach, but she knew how to smile demurely and curtseyed out of practiced politeness before she was dismissed. 

But now she was here, in the gardens, largely unaccompanied by the man responsible for the death of the dragons an age ago and the one who set in motion all of her family’s tragedies. 

“The Queen speaks highly of you.” 

“Her Grace is too kind. It is I who should speak highly of her. She has fed me and housed me when my family has taken the side of traitors.” The words were acid on her tongue. Lies upon lies upon lies. “I am forever in her debt.” Tywin smirked and she fought the urge to let her lip curl in a snarl. “But I’m sure you did not ask me to walk with you to speak of your daughter.” 

“You are correct. The Realm is still at war. Your family has held Riverrun for generations. While it is possible for the Crown to raise another family to Lord Paramount of the Trident, it always ends in more bloodshed. But you are smart—loyal.” 

The conversation was quickly spiraling into unfamiliar and dangerous territory. “I thank you, my lord. I know the Realm needs stability now more than ever.”  


“Yes. Stability.” The word sounded strange on his tongue. “Exactly.” 

Frantic footsteps behind them drew their attention and she was thankful for it, whomever it was, and turned to see who had come. It was her handmaiden, a pretty girl named Daisy from the Stormlands who had once been Myrcella’s chambermaid before the princess was shipped off to Dorne.

“My lady!” She was out of breath and then blushed a violent shade of red as she noticed Tywin and quickly dropped into a curtsey. “Lord Hand, I beg your pardon.” 

“What is it, girl?”  


Ella started to laugh at his displeasure but hid it behind a sneeze. 

“You have a raven, my lady. I know you prefer to read them promptly.” 

Relief washed over her like a wave. “You are a treasure, Daisy. I thank you.” She turned to Tywin and curtseyed. “I must take my leave, Lord Hand. I am hoping it is from my father or uncle. I do believe I might have reached their hearts and minds in regards to this traitorous alliance with my Northern-wed cousin.” 

“I will speak again with you soon, my lady.” He grasped her hand before she could leave and pressed another kiss to her knuckles. “I wish you luck with your troublesome family.” 

She pressed a smile to her lips and knew it appeased him with the smirk he gave her as she curtseyed again and then quickly walked away, Daisy struggling to keep pace. She made sure to touch Ella’s hand in thanks before she rejoined the Tyrell retinue, and then quickly made her way to her chambers. 

As the door to her chambers closed, Daisy quickly pulled the letter from her skirts with a small smile. It was still sealed with not a trace of one trying to decipher its inner secrets. She pulled a gold dragon from a small satchel tied about her waist and dropped it into Daisy’s palm, as she did every time the maid gave her a letter and guaranteed her secrecy. While the ravens from Y/N were many, those coming to her were few—a precious few. Daisy was tasked with retrieving them from the rookery before the maester could read them and then make a false report to one of Cersei’s many spies about its contents. The girl was trustworthy, worth her weight in gold—and she paid her thus. Daisy’s own vendetta against the Lannisters had started when the Lannister men stormed the streets of King’s Landing in an attack against Eddard Stark and his Northern bannermen. Jory Cassel, head of Eddard’s personal guard, had been killed. No one knew of Jory’s torrid affair with young Daisy, but Daisy had sworn retribution, something she knew she could use and quickly schooled the maid in how to play the part of dutiful, whispering servant. 

The pair would have their vengeance. But it was a long game and Y/N didn’t mind parting with the gold dragons Hoster had sent her with to keep an ally. “Who did you say this was from today?”  


“Your cousin, Edmure, my lady. Saying that he wishes you well but cannot see your reasoning.”  


“Perfect.” 

Daisy preened with the praise and helped herself to Y/N’s jug of wine as she usually did when Y/N read her letters. 

The seal popped open and left a smear of red across the parchment. It creaked under her grip, like it had been baked and then left to dry in a desert sun. 

_Your bird has found her way to Sunspear._

The letter took her a moment to understand—her bird? What could that possibly… _Sansa_.  


Y/N pressed the letter to her chest with a relieved sigh. She’d made it—far faster than she anticipated. She quickly read the rest.  


_Your letter to my brother Doran was a most welcomed surprise. _She is unused to the heat but becoming accustomed to it._ She is a loved guest—but she understands she cannot fly in certain halls. We do have golden cats here at the palace. House Nymeros Martell will keep her safe until she is ready to fly home. _

The sigil stamped at the edge of the brief message was a sun pierced by a spear, standard of the Dornish ruling house, but a red viper was also wrapped around the tip of the weapon—mouth open and hissing.  


“Oh little one,” she mused, finger brushing against the snake. “You have found yourself quite a champion.” Whispers of the Red Viper of Dorne had reached even her chambers in Riverrun. Bold, brash, and deadly, she was well aware of the Prince of Dorne. Oberyn. She always thought it a beautiful name. And if the rumors of his eight bastard daughters were true, he must have a face to match. And, if the rumors that he liked the company of both men and women were true, she’d found a kindred spirit.

“Good news, my lady?”  


“Very good, Daisy.” She quickly touched the parchment to the flame of a nearby candle and watched it burn and smolder until only the corner was left and the tips of her fingers were red. She scooped the ash into her palm and dumped it out of the window, watching the evidence of their subterfuge disappear in the wind.

##  **

The letters continued come at uneven intervals, keeping her informed at how Sansa was faring in Dorne. His missives, however brief, always left her a bit warm in the face. 

_Your little bird speaks of you often. Of your sweet nature and devotion to your loved ones. I am honored that you have deemed my House worthy or your trust. We will not fail you._

_But I do wish to know you; to know your face as I know your heart._

And then another:

_Your bird misses you. My brother has taken her under his tutelage and she is flourishing. I grower curiouser and curiouser about you with each passing day._

Words like that were scrawled across each letter she received and she treasured each new one as much as the last and always hated when she had to burn them to ash. They had become a small bright spot to her strange life in the Red Keep. A secret all her own that made her smile without care. 

But, she knew she was being watched when she was not in the haven of her rooms. The Mountain had returned from “the Westerlands” and had resumed his place in King’s Landing—but she knew he had been the leader of the band of raiders in the Riverlands all those months ago. He had been the reason she was here in the Red Keep.   


And he surely made his presence known. 

Ser Gregor seemed keen to keep her within his sights. The Mountain leered at her and was unrepentant when he would make wildly inappropriate comments in highborn company about the shape of her hips or the heaviness of her breasts. Y/N was sure the only reason he had not approached her was because someone with enough power had expressly forbidden him from touching her. 

But he was waiting—she knew. She could feel his eyes on her wherever she moved.

It unnerved her to no end. The small blades she had sewn into her dresses and hidden in her chambers gave her a small bit of comfort but she continued to play the part of a woman unaware of the eyes she caught and persisted to find a small amount of joy in her quiet chats with Daisy and her infrequent letters from Dorne or her quiet prayers to the Seven for the safety of her family.

But that was irrevocably torn asunder with new from The Twins.

The Red Wedding, they called it. Whispered the crude name for it in the halls as she passed. She held her head high and kept her tears silent in the darkness of night, soaking her pillow until she exhausted herself. Her cousin Catelyn, her son—her beautiful Robb who had made her laugh when she’d been fostered at Winterfell for two years—gone. Edmure was imprisoned and her father in the wind. Her family…gone in a single night. 

It took the Queen and her father three days to summon the last “loyal” Tully to the throne room. Joffrey was there too, perched on the Iron Throne with a sneer. She curtseyed and smiled at them as if she hadn’t felt like a dagger had wedged its way between her ribs and twisted. 

“The King in the North is dead,” Joffrey jeered.  
  
“Yes, I’ve heard, Your Grace. A great victory.” Her voice was steady.   


That was not the emotion Joffrey wanted nor expected because he continued, “your traitor family—wiped out! Dragged to-”  


“That is enough, Joffrey,” Tywin said with an even tone as he eyed her, quickly shutting up his grandson.  


“What my family did was treasonous and stupid. Rebelling against the Crown was an act of war. Their deaths are only another act of war. Men die, Your Grace. It is better that it happened sooner rather than later for the betterment of the Realm.” 

Joffrey seemed placated and looked so much like his mother as he held his nose in the air. “I see you are a reasonable woman. It is a shame your family could not follow your example.”  


“Thank you, Your Grace.” She could feel the bile turn in her stomach and then rising like a terrible wave up her throat. “Is there anything you require of me?”  


“The Freys have been raised up to Lords of Riverrun.” 

And now something cold gripped her stomach. But what of what Tywin had said just a few suns ago? “Oh.” It was all she could say.  


“But,” Tywin continued, “it is only temporary. Until you find a suitable husband.” 

“That is very kind, Lord Tywin.” It was not kind. It was a threat. They meant to shackle her to someone they knew was loyal, too. Shaping the Riverlands into another realm under their thumb. And if they thought she was loyal, they would probably assume she would leap at any match they sought to bring. 

Cersei, with almost a sincere smile, stepped down a few steps toward her. “We will make sure the match is agreeable to you, Lady Tully. I would not see you married to a brute.” 

That was when her chin wobbled, a crack in her mask. “Thank you, Your Grace.”  


A brute. A brute. A **_brute_**.  


All her life, marriage had seemed like some far off arrangement. Her father had never pressed her to marry and Uncle Hoster had avoided it entirely. Being confronted with its inevitability had shaken something in her marrow.  


##  **

Daisy had told her to spend some time in the market to “buy something overpriced and shiny” for some semblance of happiness.  


“I do it all the time when my thoughts fall to my Jory.” Daisy gave her a soft, sad smile but quickly waved it away. “It is why I have so many beautiful things!” 

That is how she found herself surrounded by the thrum of King’s Landing, weaving between people as she looked at various stalls of goods and wares and foods. Daisy had left her side a few moments ago to barter with some woman over a filigreed hair pin. She was in need of a new inks and parchment and possibly a pair of earrings to wear to the wedding ceremony in just a few days.

Finding the ink and parchment was easy—and the ink was a pretty blue, almost the Tully shade and she had swiftly purchased three wells of it. Daisy flittered by for a moment to check on her before disappearing into the crowds again. 

As she looked over the various “shiny things” Daisy insisted she look at, Y/N collided with someone. The scent of citrus and foreign, floral perfume engulfed her in a cloud as she was caught at the wrists and saved from falling to the cobblestone street. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” she quickly said as she righted herself, not even looking at the woman she had nearly toppled. “I must take care to look where I am going.” 

A delightful laugh pulled her attention and her tongue quickly glued itself to the roof of her mouth. The woman in front of her was stunning. Dark, luscious hair tied in a loose braid, away from her sharp, unfairly beautiful features, and draped in shades of orange and yellow which only highlighted the tan tone of her skin. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Cousin Edmure, if he was at her side, would have surely nudged her by now, used to how she would become tongue-tied around women. The Tullys had been aware of her partiality to women—Edmure had once caught her being kissed by one of their sworn houses’ ladies in the dim light of Riverrun’s halls and had simply sighed. She had always been drawn to both men and women. It was just that it seemed like beautiful women greatly outnumbered the men she could tolerate.  


And now she was basically awestruck by this woman. 

“I am no lady,” the woman said. “And I do believe it was I who stumbled into you.” 

The man behind the stall they were standing in front of loudly cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, silently telling them to buy something or move.  


The woman laughed again and grabbed Y/N’s hand and led her down the nearest alleyway and leaned against the cool stone of the building as she released her hold. A basket of flowers was tucked under her arm and golden, swirling earrings dripped from her ears. “You are a quiet one, aren’t you?”  


“N-no, I just…” 

“Have never seen a Dornishman before?” The woman supplied, head tilted to the side with a soft smile.  


“No, I mean. I have, but you are very—what did you mean, ‘I am no lady’?” She quickly stopped her poor stumbling and bit at her bottom lip, trying to will the stupid babbling from continuing.  


“I am a bastard. Born of passion.” 

“Oh.” She paused. And then held out her hand. “I’m Y/N Tully.” Being a bastard or low-born mattered very little to Y/N. Her mother’s own low-born, foreign standing had been held over her head for as long as she had remembered. It wasn’t fair. Her parents loved each other, loved her. It was a mindset that made her differ from most of her peer group but she did not mind. (Even when her cousin Catelyn had told her that Jon Snow, Eddard’s bastard, was not to be associated with. She had found him great company and loved his soft, low voice when they would speak in the cover of moonlight at Winterfell. It all seemed like ages ago, now.) 

The woman paused, eyebrow cocked, before she smiled and took her hand, soft, long fingers curling around her own and Y/N shivered. “Ellaria Sand.”  


“What brings you to King’s Landing?” She asked, finding her footing with speaking with the woman—finally. “Surely it is not the markets. I have heard the bazaars of the Shadow City are one of the wonders of the Seven Kingdoms.” She lowered her voice. “And I assume Dorne smells much better.”  


Ellaria laughed. “It does. That is why I came to the markets.” She held up her basket of flowers. “For something sweet to smell in my rooms while I am in the capital.” Roses and lavender and little red flowers known as dragons breath were piled high and already smelled sweet and fragrant.  


“Wonderful choices. I have resorted to keeping perfumed oil under my nose.” She grimaced at revealing her silly secret. “But I shall not keep you any longer. My apologies for pulling you from your day.” 

Ellaria pulled a rose from her bundle and quickly plucked and cut the stem before tucking it behind the younger woman’s ear. “Apologize for nothing, Lady Tully.” She stood straight and smiled, making her poor heart flutter. “I shall see you again.” And then she walked away, leaving Y/N with a flower in her hair and her heart in her throat. 

##  **

Olenna was sitting behind a dark wood desk as Y/N was led into her chambers. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains and the room smelled of cinnamon and tea. She waved a hand, signaling the younger woman to sit at the chair across from her and for the servant to leave. As the door closed, Olenna offered her a bowl of berries which she quickly helped herself to with a soft ‘thank you’ and matching smile.  


“I will be frank. I know the Lannisters wish to marry you off to some oaf of a man who will do anything they say.”  


She choked on a berry. 

“You are a smart girl, Little Fish. Far smarter than you let anyone see.”  


“Lady Olenna-”

“You have helped my family, let us help you. While I would prefer to present you to Willas, he is heir to Highgarden and Tywin Lannister is sure he would see you as the Lady of Riverrun. We will present Loras as a potential suitor for you. He would make a fine husband for you and I know you will understand his leanings.”  


Without a berry to choke on, she now wheezed out a breath. Ser Loras’ leanings were an open secret to many. While it did not bother Y/N any, she didn’t understand the logic. “I am failing to see how this will help my cause.”   


“I’ve seen the way you look at women—far more often than you look at men. You are not nearly as subtle as you think you are.” 

“Hm.” Was all She could say. Denying it was a fruitless and draining endeavor. Olenna seemed to be at peace with Loras and his proclivity for the male form so she didn’t see the need. 

“So, you two could put to rest any sort of whispers and then reign in the Riverlands without the press of the Lannisters at your throats.” 

“And of children? Heirs?” Children had always been a hope for her, not out of duty but she had always wanted a little one to hold and call her own.  


“I’m sure you two could work something out,” Olenna tittered. “You’re resourceful.” 

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “I will take your offer into consideration, my lady.” 

Olenna waved her away with a small smile and Y/N left her rooms feeling a little strange. It was a blessing to have an ally such as Olenna Tyrell, but knowing that she would not truly see or help in the goal to see the Lannisters wiped from existence left something sour in her mouth. 

The only true allies she could identify, outside of her family, were the Martells. 

Just the thought of Sansa being safe—being alive—usually had her standing a little straighter. And now she had Oberyn, the faceless-but-surely-handsome Oberyn, to lift her spirits, too. It had been some time since his last letter, stating that Sansa had taken to reading to his youngest daughter, Loreza. It seemed Sansa had found a happy life in Dorne. 

She just hoped she could make it last. 

She rounded the corner, nearly at her chambers when the familiar scraping of metal against stone stopped her. It was the Sabaton and Greave of a heavy armor, stomping through the halls of the Keep. And she knew who those steps belonged to—only one man could shake the ground like that.  


“Tully.” 

She froze. 

Gregor Clegane stood at end of the hall, just in front of her chamber door with his helmet shoved beneath his arm. He sneered as he looked at her and, despite the distance between them, she felt like she could feel him breathing, sticky and disgusting, against her neck.

“Clegane.” She spit out the name. Her heart was thundering behind her ribs in an angry beat. The very sight of him made her wish for a blade. While Sandor was (reluctantly) kind at heart, there was nothing redeemable about his older brother. His three dead wives, the suspicious death of his younger sister, Sandor’s mutilating burn. All of it was Gregor. His soul was charred ash.   


His face split in a sneer. “You have been hiding from me, girl.” 

She held up her chin, defiant. “I hide from nothing. Certainly not a mindless sword such as you.” 

His sneer disappeared, lips curling to bare his teeth, yellow and crooked. “I’ve killed men for less.” 

“I’m sure you have. But not me.” Her fists curled into the skirts of her dress, slick with sweat. “You will never touch me.” 

“I will break you, girl. Have you screaming beneath me like a common whore.”  


“Lady Tully!” Tywin Lannister strode into the hall, light eyes focused solely on her. 

And she had never been so thankful to see the old lion. “Lord Tywin.”  


His gaze turned to The Mountain and his thin lips pressed into a hard line. “You are dismissed, Ser Gregor.”  


The knight bowed and walked away, but not without raking his eyes over her one last time. She tried not to shiver as her stomach rolled in disgust. 

“He is a fine swordsman but an embarrassment to high-born company.”  


That was an understatement. “How may I help you, Lord Tywin? I assumed the Small Council was still in congress at this hour.”  


“We adjourned early.” He stepped closer and she had to will herself to not take a step back out of reflex. Just as she was with Gregor, she was alone with Tywin Lannister. She had traded one monster for another. “Walk with me.” He grasped her arm and gave her very little choice in the matter, almost dragging her through the stone halls. “His Grace’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell is in a few short days. As you will be the only member of your household attending, I would deem it wise to have you sit at the head table, at our side. It would not be appropriate for you to be unattended.” 

The fact that he seemed to believe his own logic was infuriating. It was only exacerbated by the fact that she could not refute it. But she knew there was more than her propriety at stake. “That is most gracious, Lord Tywin. But would it be polite? I am not of His Grace’s family nor a Tyrell.” 

Tywin stopped and forced her to do the same. He turned to her and his cold fingers slid down her arms, barely touching before he grasped her hands and held them up, just under his chin so she could feel his breath against her fingers. “Your concern for my family’s reputation is honorable, Lady Tully. But I insist. You will sit beside us.” He looked her in the eye and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hands.  


She quickly curtseyed. “Of course, Lord Tywin. As you wish.”  


“Wonderful.” He drew out the syllables. “I have one other gift for you. I would have you attend the Small Council meetings so that you may learn how to properly govern Riverrun when we seat you on your ancestral throne.”  


The invitation was shocking. Very few women were privy to such gatherings and she knew, in any other life, that she would be enamored with the idea and anyone who offered it so openly. But this was Tywin Lannister. And Lannisters always pay their debts. But he was never going to let her refuse. She knew it. “It would be an honor, Lord Tywin. I thank you for the guidance.” 

He smirked, as if knowing he’d won, and they said their goodbyes before she quickly walked to her chambers, desperate for her original destination. She flung open the door and then quickly locked it behind her. Hot, angry tears blurred her vision as she leaned her forehead against the wood. They slid down her cheeks in thick rivulets and only served to make her angrier. She pushed away from the door and flopped onto her bed with a huff, feeling very much like a child—petulant and powerless. 

Everything was quickly slipping away from her and out of her control. All of it, all of the placating gestures, the twisting of her morals to survive to help Sansa escape, the planning. All of it. All of it was falling apart. She should have left with Sansa. Everything would have been easier. She curled a pillow into tried to will herself to sleep.

_“Will you be my champion, Ser Aemon?” She tried to make her voice airy and breathy, how she assumed Queen Naerys had spoken. They were deep in the wolfswood outside Winterfell. But the colors were wrong. Instead of the cold tones of white and grey and brown, everything was red and gold and orange, like she was seeing it through candlelight. She watched as her younger-self placed a crown of twisted branches over her head with a giggle she tried to suppress. Both of them were just past their one-and-ten nameday and had taken to making mischief as often as they could. Their favorite stories were of Queen Naerys and Ser Aemon, the Dragonknight. Their history was filled with tales of valor and heartache--perfect fodder for their growing imaginations.  
_

_Robb kneeled in front of her, taking his role very seriously. “Yes, my queen.”  
_

_Young Y/N stifled another giggle but quickly attempted to regain her composure, staying in her role. “Arise, my Dragonknight.”_

_Robb did as he was told, fighting a smile of his own before they both burst into a fit of laughter. Y/N took the wooden sword from its place on a broken stump and handed it to him with a flourish and he grasped it and held it aloft, yelling into the cold, morning air as if he had already won a great battle. His cheeks were flushed against the cold but his lips were warm as he pressed them against her hand. She could remember it all so easily. “I shall avenge your honor, my queen. I swear it.”_

_“Lord Robb!” Maester Luwin called out, voice echoing in the forest. It echoed and echoed and echoed and grew louder until all it was, was a roar that shook the trees._

_Robb suddenly grabbed her hand and started tugging her through the trees. “Run, my queen. Or we’ll be forced to suffer more Valyrian lessons!” The trees twisted as the pair ran away, forming a wall and climbing higher and higher into the sky until it blotted out the sun. Then the trees twisted and reached out to her and their wooden fingers circled her throat and choked the air from her lungs._  


As she woke with a gasp and the dying light now filtering through her small window, she could still hear Robb’s laughter ringing in her ears.  


##  **

The Small Council Chamber was nothing she had dreamt of when she had let herself believe she could one day be powerful. It was just a stone room with a few windows and a large table. She counted the chairs and frowned when she couldn’t place all the titles that went with each.  


“You are early.” 

She leapt at the sound of the voice and quickly turned at curtseyed in front of Cersei who smirked and settled herself into the chair closest to the head seat. “I wanted to be sure I was not late, Your Grace. It is a great honor to be invited.”  


Cersei looked at her and her smirk widened. “Yes. It is, isn’t it? I asked my lord father to invite you. When the Riverlands are yours to govern, we would not have you mishandle them.” She pulled out the chair beside her. “Sit.”  


She quickly did. “I do not want to disappoint you, Your Grace. But, would it be imprudent for me to take notes? To see how the duties are presented.” There was a bit of parchment and ink she could use, sitting on the edge of the table. Cersei nodded and Y/N had to will herself not to scramble for it. While this invitation would surely be used against her at a later date, there was no use in completely forgetting what happened in the chamber. “While we are waiting, Your Grace, may I fetch you anything?”  


“The last time you went to fetch me wine, Lady Tully, you nearly died. I would have you close for now.”  


The quill in her hand nearly snapped at that, even if delivered in Cersei’s usual droll. An admission of somewhat reluctant care for her well-being had not been what she had hoped to earn when she woke this morn, but it was definitely a welcome surprise, even if it did make her all the more suspicious of the Lannisters’ intentions. All she said in response was, “Yes, Your Grace.”  


And Cersei seemed fine with that.  


Other men filtered in, casting questioning looks in Y/N’s direction but never voiced them as they looked at Cersei at her side. 

Well, except for Grand Maester Pycelle. “Are you lost, Lady Tully? This is no place for a lady!”  


“I requested her presence.” Everyone scrambled to their feet as Tywin entered the chamber. “She is to see how a functioning government is kept.” Tywin looked at her as he took his seat and she quickly glanced down at her empty bits of parchment.

Pycelle muttered something else under his breath but took his seat and cast a side-eyed glance at Y/N one more time before the meeting actually started.  


Soon, the parchment was filled with notes and she was scrambling to tidy them as the meeting was adjourned. To his credit, it seemed like Tywin was the only one who knew how to have a functioning council but it was still a mess. But perhaps he intended it to be like that—so he could be the smartest man in the room. 

“My lord,” she started as the others had started to leave. “I noticed there are more seats than people. Will there be more lords on the council after the wedding?”  


Tywin looked at the empty chairs and then back at her, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Everything is a piece to played, my lady. You’ll see.” 

He escorted her back to her rooms and left her with another kiss to her hand and a promise to invite her back to the Small Council “soon.” And she was happy to be alone again. Daisy had been excused after helping her dress and ready for the day, leaving her by herself. 

It had been almost two weeks since she’d received her last letter from Dorne. It was probably for the best; it wasn’t as if she had any family left to write to her so it would be suspicious if she had received a letter from the Riverlands now. She hoped Sansa and Oberyn were well. Safe. Happy. All of it. If she couldn’t have it, she hoped someone else could. When she was feeling particularly melancholy, she would pull the rose she’d received from the mysterious and beautiful Ellaria from its hiding spot under her carefully, gently folded chemises and press it under her nose. The scent was faint now, but it still brought a smile to her face. (She had never actually found the earrings she was searching for that day.)  
  
After the meeting, she had stayed to the quiet of her rooms instead of the godswood. The chattering from the guests arriving for the wedding in the gardens had bled into that small haven and forced her retreat if she wanted to save her sanity. She was reading a book on the War of the Ninepenny Kings when there was a knock at her door. She grumbled and placed her book down before walking to the door and hauling it open, prepared to see some Lannister or Tyrell handmaiden requesting her presence somewhere—but instead, she saw a handsome young man with black hair pulled into a small bun on the back of his head. His robes were tan with golden thread with a burnt orange undershirt left open. “Lady Tully,” he said, a soft accent touching her ears. “I have a delivery for you. From Dorne.” His smile was small, but knowing. “Prince Oberyn send his regards, my lady.” Before she could even thank him, he disappeared and left an ornate chest just on the inside of her chamber door. The chest was of a reddish wood, inlaid with golden suns and thick, bold metal strappings. It smelled faintly of citrus and was slick with a fine varnish.  


Before she could even open the chest, Daisy had scurried into her rooms, cheeks flush with worry. “The Queen is on her way, my lady.”  


And she was right, Cersei arrived soon with a thinly veiled look of curiosity in her green eyes as she looked at the chest. “A gift from Dorne?” 

Y/N and Daisy quickly curtseyed as Y/N easily thought of a lie. “Not quite, Your Grace. I wanted to have the finest gown for His Grace’s wedding to Lady Margaery, behind yours of course. And my dresses are much more suited for the climate of the Riverlands. The seamstresses in the capital were all far too busy for my liking and I wanted to be sure that I would not embarrass myself with a poorly-hewn frock.”  


“My seamstress could have found room for you.”  


She pressed a look of shock to her face. “Your Grace is far too charitable. I have taken enough of your time and resources when my family has caused the Crown such irksome troubles.”  


Cersei looked pleased with her answer, nose held a little higher in the air. “You are a credit to your bloodline, Y/N. But do ask for her when the next opportunity arises. I would not have you dressed like a Dornish tart.”  


Anger bit at the back of her tongue but she smiled as if she had been complimented. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will.”  


Cersei excused herself and Daisy finally lifted her head from its tuck to her chest and she softly shut the door, rolling her eyes the entire time.  


“Help me to unseal this.” 

Daisy quickly did as she was told and they attempted to pry it open but were unsuccessful until Y/N gave in and pulled a knife from under her featherbed and cut the seal.  


“Oh…my lady. That is a mighty fine dress.” 

And it was. Nestled in the chest was a soft, sunshine yellow samite dress of a Dornish style. It would show off an ample amount of cleavage with a near-scandalous neckline but did preserve most of her modesty with long bell sleeves made of matching Myrish lace. Small, golden suns were stitched throughout along with silver stars and moons, and she knew a train of modest length would follow her even with her heeled shoes. 

Daisy bent and pulled something else from the chest: a neatly folded bit of parchment. 

Y/N carefully set her dress on her bed before taking the letter. She unfolded it and laughed even as more heat took to her cheeks. 

_So that I may know you on sight._

The familiar viper was pressed to the corner in red ink.  


##  **

The date of the wedding had arrived and she grew more nervous with each passing moment, even as Daisy attempted to make her laugh as she helped her dress and laced her uncomfortable heeled boots. 

“You are not the bride, my lady. Cease your shaking.” Daisy grasped at one of her hands and squeezed. “And if the whispers I hear are true, your Prince had been in the capital for a few days now.”  


“You are not helping, Daisy. Why would that information give me comfort?”  


The girl laughed and finished lacing the back of her dress with a flourish. “You are finished. Lady Margaery has asked for you in the Maidenvault. You must hurry.”  


She squeezed Daisy’s hands in thanks and told her to help herself to the wine and relax in her chambers for the rest of the day before leaving and quickly making her way to the Maidenvault. It was awash with Tyrell green and gold and nearly vibrating with energy as women went this way and that, preparing for the ceremony. 

“You’ve made it!” Margaery exclaimed, seeing her through the crowd. 

She quickly made her way to the side of the soon-to-be-queen and curtseyed. “How may I help you-”  


“You look quite beautiful. Dornish, is it not?” Margaery reached out and trailed a finger across one of the suns just above her breast. If she felt her poor heart leap, Margaery blessedly didn’t mention it.  


“It is.”  


“Nearly scandalous,” Margaery said with a wink.  


And Y/N nearly snorted at that—Margaery’s dresses were, largely, much more bold.  


“But don’t change. It will be nice to see some color beside red and gold on my wedding day.” Margaery squeezed her hands and then scowled as a handmaiden shoved a pin into her hair.  


“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Y/N said, noticing how Margaery preened with the title, “I was told you asked me here for a reason.”  


Margaery smiled again. “Yes, I wanted to personally ask you to save a dance for my brother, Ser Loras. He has been asking to make your acquaintance for some time now.” The twinkle in her eye did little to settle the knots in Y/N’s stomach. Almost everyone in the entire room, and there were quite a few, had taken a look at her then, at the mention of Loras’ name.  


“I would be delighted, Your Grace.”  


Margaery suddenly pulled her into a hug, ignoring the squawk her handmaiden let out as she had just about placed another pin, and held her tight. “You’ve made me very happy, Little Fish.”  


“I am glad to hear it. It is your wedding day, after all,” Y/N said as she pulled back. “Now, you must excuse me.”  


“Of course,” Margaery said, still smiling. “I shall see you in a moment.”  


Y/N quickly exited, ignoring the strange looks she was receiving on her way out form the Tyrell retinue, and made her way toward the Great Sept of Baelor, filling in with the crowds and finding her place. It was more toward the front of the crowd than she had anticipated and her thoughts once again turned to how the Lannisters were planning something. At least with the Tyrells, she knew whom she could expect.  
  
Lords and Ladies from the Westerlands were at her back and was soon greeted by Ser Kevan Lannister and his wife, Lady Dorna Swyft in her row. They greeted her warmly, mentioning how both Cersei and Tywin mentioned her and she did her best to act pleased.  


A flash of gold caught her eye a few rows ahead and she turned to see a golden headdress, rows of golden chain looped together, placed over a head of shiny, inky black hair. It was preposterous to believe it could be Ellaria, she knew. But, oh, she hoped. The man next to the woman with the golden headdress was handsome, from what she could see of his face. A strong nose and pouty lips that smiled as he looked at his companion and he was draped in a soft tan fabric that shimmered only slightly when the sunlight hit it just so. Perhaps it was Oberyn. Again, a fanciful thought. But his letter and the dress had made his intention clear that he would be at the wedding and there, of course, had been the usual whispers that Prince Oberyn had travelled in Prince Doran’s stead to represent Dorne during the festivities. He could and should be here.  


“It is a marvelous moment, no?” Kevan asked, whispering in her ear. “The dawn of a new era.”  


“Indeed,” Y/N said as the soft music started, signaling the arrival of the bride. “It is.”  


##  **

It was a pleasant surprise to see she was to be seated beside Tyrion and Tommen at the festivities following the ceremony. While still Lannisters, they were decidedly the best of the brood. Tyrion made her laugh and Tommen was kind.  


“Have you tried the boar, my prince? It is quite good.”  


Tommen speared some of the meat from her plate with a playful smile as Tyrion softly, fondly chided him. “It is good, my lady.” The young prince quickly stole another bite.  


“My lady,” Tyrion started as he stood from his chair, “would you be so kind as to join me for the next dance?” He held out a hand toward her with a small smile.  


She did not want to. Not because of his stature but because of his family and how it echoed in her mind that the Lannisters were set on marrying her off. He was kind, it was true, but that did not make this easier. “Of course, Lord Tyrion.” She stood and grasped his hand, letting him lead her away from the large red and gold tent and into the fray of couples arranging themselves in two lines as the musicians readied for the next song.  


The music started and she quickly tried to remember the steps that this dance required. A few steps forward toward her partner then a turn to the side to grasp a hand, turn once, twice, then step back and the partner on the left would step to the side and the dance would begin again with a new partner, again and again, until the entire line had been turned and the original partners were reunited again. For what it was worth, Y/N had to admit that Tyrion chose a smart dance to share with her—they hardly touched or spent any time looking at each other. Almost as if he knew her discomfort.  


He bowed to her and she to him and they began the dance. He was mindful not to step on her gown as they circled each other and he gave her another fond smile before they switched partners. There was an older Lord from the Stormlands, followed by a knight from the Westerlands and then a familiar green and gold brocade gathered her attention as she stepped in front of her next partner.  


Ser Loras looked relieved as he recognized her. “Lady Tully.”  


“Ser Loras.” He was undoubtedly handsome, with his soft blonde curls and dancing, blue eyes and Y/N could let herself pretend, for a moment that she could be happy being married off to someone like him— strictly aesthetically, anyway. “I have been told to save you a dance by our new queen.”  


He laughed as he grasped her hand and they turned. “Would you?”  


“Yes, Ser Loras. I’d be happy to.”  


He smiled again and they finished their turn before the next partner came.  
  
The dance eventually finished and Tyrion took her hand again and led her back to their table. Tommen now had a heaping pile of the boar on his plate and was devouring it. She stole a bite from his plate and he laughed. His laughter, however, drew the eye of Cersei and Tywin Lannister.  


They both looked at her at the far table and she pretended not to notice as she laughed with Tommen and let Tyrion fill her chalice with more wine. It would be better if they didn’t think she was putting on a show.  


Another set of musicians stepped up in front of Joffrey and Margaery and played another round of ‘The Rains of Castamere.’ It had been the fifth one already and it was hardly an hour into the festivities. Joffrey lobbed a handful of coin at them and sent them on their way.  


Another song for the dancing couples went by, and another followed. The wine was making her head swim the smallest bit as she spotted Loras making his way toward her. Olenna was at his side, required to make the introduction for niceties sake and then they were off.  


The musicians called out the dance and Y/N had to arch an eyebrow at Loras. This one would keep her close, almost intimate, but still playful enough that it wouldn’t be imprudent for mixed company. He shrugged and held her hands in his, easily guiding her through the steps. “Surely you know what they’re planning,” he whispered in her ear.  


“Oh yes. We could make quite a match.” She twirled under his arm, following the steps, and let herself be caught in his arms, her back to his chest as the dance continued. “But why would you agree to such a thing, Loras?” Her voice was low. “King Renly…” Words had to be chosen carefully. “You loved him. I’ve heard tales about it. Why would you tether yourself to someone you could never love?”  


The knight’s grip tightened just a fraction. “When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.”  


And her heart broke with the pain in his voice. Thankfully, the dance needed her to turn and face him, placing her hands over one of his shoulders as she kicked, letting her dress flutter and glisten in the sunlight. “We can be friends, can we not? To find some happiness in this arrangement?”  


He smiled then and almost laughed as she nearly missed a step. “I would like that, very much.”  


They finished the dance, her heart a little lighter than it had been and he gently took her hand and started to lead her toward her table before she noticed him blushing. Y/N tried to find where he was looking and found Ellaria hand-feeding berries to the most beautiful man she had ever seen. It was a wonderful surprise to realize the woman she had been ogling during the ceremony had been Ellaria. But who was the man? Seeing him in the sunlight, completely, was beautiful. Just as beautiful as Ellaria. No wonder they seemed so besotted with each other.  


“That is Prince Oberyn,” Loras whispered in her ear. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”  


“He is.” Why lie? Anyone with eyes could see how he was meant to be painted, immortalized for everyone to revere.  


“Shall I introduce you? I made his acquaintance earlier today.” There was a slight shyness to Loras’ tone that made her smile. He was like a little boy with an infatuation.  


And she would finally meet him. But would their easy companionship filter over from their letters? Nerves had twisted her stomach when she thought of Oberyn not deeming her worthy of his beautiful word any longer. “I would be grateful.” 

Loras led her through the crowd and Ellaria spotted them first. A happy smile touched her lips and she whispered something in Oberyn’s ear. He let his gaze slowly slide over to them, almost disinterested but she could see the playful glint in his eyes. And his own smile widened when he looked at her. Ellaria slid off his lap and walked over to them, dragging Y/N from Loras’ side.  


“Finally. Someone worth speaking to.” She pressed a kiss to both of Y/N’s quickly warming cheeks and tugged her toward the table. “Come, Ser Loras. You can join us.”  


Loras awkwardly sat across from Oberyn as Ellaria planted Y/N between herself and Oberyn, a hand already fond of tracing the suns stitched into her dress. “I was unaware you knew Lady Tully.”  


“We met in the market. She has yet to meet my prince.”  


“Yes, well, Prince Oberyn, I present-”  


“Lady Tully. Yes.” He grasped one of her hands and brought it to his mouth to kiss the tips of her fingers, somehow making a shiver shoot down her spine as he never broke eye contract. “I have heard of you. And that is a fine dress. Dornish, isn’t it?” He smiled at the last question.

“It is—I’ve never had such a beautiful dress. I’m very fortunate. And, of course, it is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Oberyn. I hope your travels to the capital were pleasant.” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping her voice so steady despite his piercing stare. Perhaps it was the hidden joke, the secret in their verbal volley who made her a little more at ease. None of her nerves had been proven correct just yet. And she hoped they never would.  


“The Capital is never pleasant, and the journey was tedious. But the company, it seems, to have finally evolved into something enjoyable.” He then smirked at Loras and pulled a berry from the bowl in front of him and tossed it into his mouth.  


Loras’ pretty cheeks filled with pink and he averted his eyes and the cogs in Y/N’s mind quickly started to turn. “Ellaria, I have heard there is quite a display of Lysene contortionists somewhere around here. Shall we let the men talk?”  


Ellaria laughed and let a finger trail across Y/N’s cheek. “I know exactly where these contortionists are. I will show you.” She stood and Y/N followed and they linked arms as they set off away from the dancing couples and the food tables. Ellaria’s hand covered hers as it rested on her arm. “That was very kind of you, my lady. To let Oberyn have his fun with that pretty knight.”  


“Yes, well,” Y/N chanced a glance over her shoulder to see that Loras had switched to the other side of the table and Oberyn was whispering something in his ear, “it seemed Loras had been a bit smitten and who am I to stand in the way of that?”  


“You do not mind that he likes both? My Oberyn?” The question was asked quietly, Ellaria’s lips close to her ear.  


“I like both. It is comforting to know there is another like me.” And it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest to finally say it aloud. Of course, the Tullys knew of it, but they had very little patience to understand it so she had been forced to only live it in shadowed corners. And when she had moved to King’s Landing, it wasn’t an option for her to explore. There was an easy air about Ellaria, open and honest. That is perhaps why Y/N had felt so nonplussed to reveal her own secret.  


“More than just Oberyn,” Ellaria said, her grip tightening just a fraction.  


And Y/N’s heart leapt and bounced. “Truly?” The word was almost strangled from her throat as they neared the area of the fire-breathers and contortionists and jugglers, slipping through a display of the gifts the Brat King had received from his guests.  


“You are not alone,” Ellaria whispered with a teasing smile. But then another question had Ellaria’s brow arching. “And what of your thoughts of loving more than one?”  


“More than one person at a time? I have not loved _one_ person. I would not know how to love two.” She frowned as she thought of it. There was love for her family, and a companionable affection for people like Daisy. But love? Real, romantic love? It had always been a distant daydream. Stolen kisses in shadows from pretty ladies and the occasional second son of a lord was as close as she had ever come to it.  


“There is love in your heart, I know it. Can feel it. Passion waiting to be unleashed.” They turned a corner and a burst of fire greeted them. They had found their destination. The fire-breather danced away, leaving the scent of smoke and ash behind. “In Dorne, we embrace our passion. Lords and ladies have their paramours and lovers and _take_ what they want.” She let her fingers trail down to take Y/N’s hand and raised it to her lips and kissed the pads of her fingers, just as Oberyn had done a moment ago.  


Y/N swallowed the hard lump in her throat as Ellaria’s dark eyes lifted to meet hers. “Dorne sounds like a paradise.”  


“It can be. If one has the right soul for it.” The older woman stood straight and continued to lead her toward the tables filled with contortionists.  


“Do I?” Y/N asked. Could she be happy in a place like Dorne, unfettered by the social constructs she’d been born into?  


Ellaria looked at her and smiled, wolfish and hungry. She said nothing and pulled her along to see the men and women twist and turn in almost unnatural ways and would murmur the position names in her ear like an illicit secret.  


All of it was bubbling into something strange under Y/N’s skin, making her warm with each passing syllable and each new position they encountered only coiled something tighter until they were all a blur in her mind and all she could hear was Ellaria’s melodic hum in her ear and smell her perfume. Y/N was not so innocent to not understand that she was roused and yearning for some indelicate headiness, but she had never before been so close to achieving it. Only her own fingers had given her reprieve in the past but now Ellaria was staring at her like a tiger faced with a meal and she couldn’t wait to be devoured.  


“Surely there is a quiet place for you to catch your breath.” Ellaria had not let go of her hand yet and it seemed unlikely she would do so now as they walked through the masses, slipping out of the festival grounds and into the gardens. It was decidedly quieter but the music from the bards and musicians and the laughter of the crowds still filtered through the greenery, now muted and soft. The pair walked for a moment before finding a corner with a stone wall in the shadows, a reprieve from the heat of the sun. 

And, as Y/N went to thank her companion for the respite, Ellaria pushed her against a wall and pressed her mouth to hers and stole her breath. Coaxing her mouth was easy and Ellaria almost laughed as Y/N whined against her lips. The quiet desperation that she had felt was now bursting forth as Ellaria easily coaxed her lips apart and delved her tongue into her mouth.  


“Responsive, that’s good,” Ellaria hummed as he broke for a moment. Her hands slid from the other woman’s shoulders down her sides to grab handfuls of the yellow fabric at her hips and dragged her waist closer and wedging a thigh between hers. A choked breath pushed through Y/N’s lips at the delicious pressure against her core. “You taste so sweet.”  


“Oh, please,” Y/N gasped, not knowing what she was begging for. To stop. To never stop. “Please.”  


Ellaria suddenly grabbed the back of her neck to pull her head closer, angling her abruptly so she could kiss her thoroughly, devour her with spit-slicked lips and smiling teeth and dominating every sense she had despite Y/N’s some-what apparent lack of experience. And Y/N could have sworn she’d never felt such ecstasy in a touch like this—until Ellaria trailed her fingers against Y/N’s heaving chest, feeling the warmth she exuded and how soft her skin was before dipping beneath the fabric to cup Y/N’s breast and this time she did laugh as Y/N gasped again. She kneaded her and felt Y/N’s heart hammering and racing as she continued to draw whines and whimpers from her pretty little mouth. Deft fingers found her pebbled nipple and circled and tugged again and again before once again starting her slow torture of simply massaging the tortured flesh.  


Y/N’s hands tried to find purchase in anything, the cold stone behind her, the fabric of Ellaria’s dress, but finally grabbed at Ellaria’s neck so she could thread her fingers into the hair at the back of her head, barely mindful of the golden chains in her locks, and hold her close—she needed her closer.  


“You sing so prettily for me,” Ellaria said as her nose trailed against Y/N’s cheek, her other hand still anchored on her neck. “I’ve barely touched you.” A final squeeze to her chest and then her fingers retreated…only to start to trail down toward her skirts. “Do you want me to touch you?”  


“Yes,” Y/N blindly answered. “Touch me.”  


“ **Oh**.”  


Y/N instantly stiffened at being caught, her own hands pulling away from the other woman.  


“That will have to wait, I’m afraid,” came a voice just over Ellaria’s shoulder.  


Ellaria’s lovely touch withdrew and she carefully pulled Y/N’s dress back to cover her chest with a wink before she turned, almost leisurely, to see who had stumbled upon them.  


Loras was blushing a pretty shade of red and looking steadfastly up into the clouds while Oberyn simply smirked at the pair of women. The sight was a welcome one—surely these two could keep a secret.  


“You’ve nearly made a mess of our young Lady Tully, my love,” Oberyn said as he stepped forward to grasp at Ellaria’s hand and he tugged her close to press a slow kiss against her lips. “And does she taste as pretty as she looks?”  


“She does,” Ellaria agreed as she looked back at Y/N who was still pressed against the garden wall. “A taste from the source would be much sweeter.” The innuendo was not lost on anyone present.  


“I’m sure it would.” Oberyn’s hand curled around Ellaria’s hip and he drew her closer. “But that will have to wait. Her absence has been noted by too many.”  


Y/N sagged with the news. It had to have been the Lannisters. No one else would mind if she disappeared with a fellow guest for a few moments at a celebration such as this. “Thank you for finding us first, my prince.” She brushed her hands against her skirts to help them lay flat and straightened her shoulders before pressing the back of her hand to her cheeks to help them cool before starting to walk toward the banquet again. Only to be stopped by a roughened hand on her arm. Oberyn’s grip was not hard, she knew she could wriggle out of it without any effort.  


“Your appearance will not keep a secret in that state, my lady.” Then, without much fanfare or warning, he started to gently right her clothing and adjusted the filigreed band across the top of her head to once again give her an air of a civilized lady.  


His touch was always gentle, taking care to never pull or tug too harshly, and Y/N felt her heart trying to escape her chest for the second time that day and leap into the hands of a Dornishman. She tried to focus on the golden chain around his neck instead of staring at his face but then all she managed to do was appreciate his defined chest and how he smelled like ripe berries and sandalwood with a touch of spice she could not place. His full lips were parted and nearly pursed as he worked, making them ever more tempting and she felt foolish to even let such a thought cross her mind when she hardly knew him. 

But, she hardly knew Ellaria who had her panting like a whore only moments earlier. He was every bit as entrancing as Ellaria, she was rue to admit. His gentle touch only exacerbated how flustered she felt. The pair was dangerous.  


“Shall I pass inspection, my prince?” She asked as he finished, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.  


“Tell them you’ve been enjoying the less polite entertainment if they ask where you've gone, my lady.” It was said with a smirk and his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, making her shiver again.  


“Thank you for the guidance.” She bid them adieu and squeezed Loras’ arm as she walked away and rejoined the festivities. 


	2. The Perils of a Royal Wedding

Y/N had been correct. The Lannisters were the ones to note her absence and demand she remain within their sights. It was easy to explain her absence away, she had wanted to partake in the festivities—a wide-eyed look of innocence had them believing it. She danced with Tommen, a happy, skipping thing that had them both giggling to the annoyance of everyone around them. More wine filled her chalice and she wondered if Joffrey had even asked his wife to dance. 

Shouldn’t everyone dance at their own wedding? For now, she watched Tommen dance with his aunt Genna and plied herself with berries. 

She noticed Ellaria and Oberyn settle at a table nearer the newly wedded couple and Ellaria, knowing Y/N was looking, fed Oberyn berries, pressing them into his mouth with a smirk that he mirrored as he sucked them from her fingers. 

She fidgeted in her chair, a now-familiar stirring in her stomach, and drained the rest of the wine from her chalice, grateful when Tyrion quickly noticed and made sure it was refilled. But it was then that she noticed the guilty look on the dwarf’s face as he looked at her. 

“Lord Tyrion, what ails you? Have I done something to offend?” 

His smile was weak and he took a large gulp of his own wine. “No, my lady. You have done nothing wrong.” And, even though it was murmured into his cup, she heard him say, “and that is your curse.” 

But then Loras appeared at their table again, happy and out of breath, before asking her for another dance. She accepted, throwing a glance toward Tyrion who waved her on, and let Loras lead her back toward the dancing couples. When Oberyn and Ellaria stepped to their sides and the dance was announced, she had to admire the Tyrell’s plan. The dance called for two couples, the pairings would switch frequently, alternating partners and steps, and allowed each of the participants to hold the others close. The dance had originated in Dorne a generation ago, and had once been deemed inappropriate for allowing same-sex dancing partners, but had eventually made its way into polite company. Loras seemed to know how audacious the plan was and beamed with a proud smile when she quirked an eyebrow. Ellaria laughed beside them, seeing the exchange, and Oberyn pulled her close for a kiss but his eyes were on Y/N. The music started Y/N let Loras pull her close for a few steps before they all stepped back and the four joined hands, moving about in a circle for a turn and then the couples changed. Ellaria greedily grabbed at her hands and hauled her close with sparkling eyes, leading her through the steps with ease. 

“You know a Dornish dance.” 

“I do. This is one of my favorites.” 

Ellaria hummed as they turned, skirts twisting together in a wave of orange and yellow. “I shall teach you another.” 

Heat curled in her stomach at the implication but she wanted it. Desperately. “I would be a faithful student.” 

The music indicated that they rejoin hands and circle again. Loras squeezed her hand when they touched and shook his curls like he was moving them out of his eyes but really drawing her attention to the head table where Tywin and Cersei were staring at them. She squeezed his hand back in thanks and felt the smile she had been wearing die. Another turn with the four of them joined and the next partnering came and Oberyn swept her into his arms like he had done it a thousand times before, pulling her closer than the steps deemed necessary. 

“Your bird is thriving,” he whispered in her ear. “Happy.” 

Y/N didn’t respond aside from tightening her grip on his hand. 

“But she worries for you a great deal.” 

“Great reward comes with great risk. She will learn this.” 

“Your life is precious. Whatever game you think you are playing, you do not know if you will win.” 

He was right. The impending arrangement the Lannisters were planning was hanging over her head and she knew her place as a trusted loyalist could easily be snapped. But she had already entrusted too much with him and Dorne. 

Asking him for more would be selfish. 

“I would see you safe.” 

“As I would see you, my prince.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else when the crescendo of the song started and they were forced to part, retreating back to their original coupling to finish the dance. 

“You look troubled, my lady,” Loras whispered. 

“I think I am.” The dance ended in Loras’ arms and he started to lead her back toward her table when Tywin Lannister stepped into their path. “My lord, are you enjoying the festivities?” Pressing a smile to her face was easy and she tried to not tighten her grip on Loras’ arm in an attempt for comfort. “I have never seen such splendor.” 

Tywin smirked and glanced at Loras before focusing his gaze back on her. “I’m glad you’ve found some enjoyment, Lady Tully. Join me for a dance.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an offer. And when he held out his hand toward her, she knew she would have to take it.

She looked at the hand offered to her and then cast a glance at Oberyn and Ellaria, as they settled at their table. She couldn’t help it. She knew what Oberyn and all of Dorne thought of Tywin Lannister. She wouldn’t add to their betrayal or heartache. Oberyn looked ready to leap from his seat but Ellaria had set a hand over his arm and quickly schooled her features into a forced smile before giving a curt nod. 

Y/N mirrored her expression and set her hand in Tywin’s as she stepped away from Loras’ side and let herself be drawn back among the other dancing couples as the music started, slow and soft. It would have been romantic with anyone else. The older man was a graceful dancer, she had to admit, as he led her through the familiar steps of a dance she had learned as a child. He was looking down at her, she knew, as she made the top button of his surcoat her sole focus. She wouldn’t and couldn’t look at him. But his dulled scent of leather and clove was cloying at her nose. 

“Do you make it a habit of avoiding eye contact with whomever you dance with?” 

Y/N resisted rolling her eyes and granted him a single, short look. “I apologize, my lord. I am simply trying to remember the steps so I do not step on your foot.” A simple lie.

“Did you not practice as a child?” 

“I did, my lord. Far more than necessary, I assume. But this dance was not a favorite of my septa. I do hope you do not fault me for it.” Another lie.

“Yes,” Tywin said. “I suppose you did have an unusual upbringing.” He stepped back and spun her under his arm just as the other couples did the same. “I could teach you.” 

Y/N nearly choked on her next breath and missed a step, her toe colliding with the side of his boot. “M-my lord?” 

“You are a young, beautiful, highborn lady. You should know to dance—properly. Not those dances I know they’re fond of in Dorne. Vulgar displays.”

Her throat was tightening, stopping air from moving in or out. “I…I quite like the Dornish dances. I think they’re lovely.”

“Do you know those steps, Lady Tully? Perhaps you could enlighten me to their beauty.” The words had a strange lift to them and his grip tightened on her hand, the other curling around her waist just a fraction more.

“My lord,” she dropped her voice to a whisper to avoid him hearing the tremble she knew was growing, “that is hardly appropriate.” 

“It does not have to be inappropriate. You could be Lady of Casterly Rock. You would be more powerful than Margaery and worshipped by all of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Y/N would swear her heart stopped. Was this his plan? Was he suggesting-

“And what of the Riverlands? I thought-”

“Your _second_ son would rule the Riverlands. Your first, however,” he dipped his head closer to her ear, “would be my heir.”

The song ended and everyone else clapped, crowd moving—finding new partners, refilling wine. But Y/N could only pull her hands away from Tywin as her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. “A gracious offer, to be sure.” 

“And what is your answer?” 

“Lady Tully!” Y/N nearly collapsed as she heard Margaery call out for her. 

“Please, excuse me, my lord.” She curtseyed, and then turned toward the head table. There was a strange buzzing between her ears as she made her way through the crowd. She barely gave it a second thought to see the knight-turned-fool Dontos waiting in the bushes as she passed. She curtseyed again in front of Joffrey and Margaery. “Yes, Your Grace?” 

The new queen smiled up at her and grasped at her hands. “I-”

There was a sudden, familiar sound behind her, pulling her attention for just a moment before something pinched at her back and chest. 

Margaery screamed. 

The bolt was protruding from her shoulder like a terrible, blackened limb. Margaery looked up at her with wide eyes as she felt the metallic tang of blood bubble over her tongue. She touched it—just once—as if not entirely believing she had been shot. The answering, near-crippling shock proved her otherwise. 

There was screaming—so much screaming and she could not discern one word from the other.

Someone called out her name as she doubled over onto her knees. Shaking fingers grasped the silver arrowhead and, with a strangled sort of groan, she pulled the rest of the arrow through, briefly wondering at the strange sensation of the fletching catching on her flesh. Warmth bloomed across her chest. It took her several moments to realize it was blood.

Bloodied palms slapped against the stones beneath her, keeping her from collapsing completely. 

“The King!” Someone shouted. “The King!” 

There was more screaming, panicked and screeching and turning into a howling cacophony in her swirling mind. She hardly noticed when someone ran to her side and grasped her face with gentle hands, trying to get her to move, to say something, to do anything. Pain grew and blossomed with every frantic beat of her heart but she could do precious little, her limbs feeling like stone. Even her eyes refused to move from where they were trained on the stone, watching, almost disinterestedly the blood start to pool beneath her fingers. 

Someone was pressing at her wound, trying to staunch the bleeding with little success. “Stay with me, stay awake.” 

She lifted her head, a labored effort, and could only see the dark eyes staring back at her and then the world turned dark.

**

Olenna was sitting on the edge of her bed when she woke. The woman’s face was drawn tight with some strange emotion as she stared out into the small patch of sky visible from the chamber windows.

“My lady?” Y/N's voice caught in her throat, dry and scratching. Pain shot through her body as she tried to lift herself up to sitting. 

Olenna turned to face her, a small smile touching her mouth. “Ah, Little Fish. You finally wake.” She walked to the door and called out for the maester before helping Y/N to sit and put another pillow at her back. “Do you need more Milk of the Poppy?”

“What happened, Olenna? Tell me.” The pain was increasing with each beat of her heart but she needed to know—needed to understand.

Olenna sighed and stood straight. “It was never meant to be you, child. I want you to know that.” 

“I-I-I don’t understand. And of Joffrey? What-”

The door to her chamber opened and a maester walked in, a small bowl of something in his weathered hands. Without prompting, he held it to Y/N's lips and forced the viscous liquid into her mouth. The bitter taste was a familiar one—Milk of the Poppy. She coughed and nearly retched with how much he was pushing down her throat but sank into the pillows, mind already swimming, as he finished. “I just have to check your wrappings, my lady. To prevent infection.” 

Y/N's eyes were swimming, unfocused, as she tried to find Olenna again. “Stay,” she said, although her tongue felt too big for her mouth. “Tell me. What happened.” 

“You were valiant, my lady,” the maester said as he pulled down the shoulder of her chemise. “But you were not able to save His Grace, King Joffrey. “ 

Her head lulled to the side on her pillows to find Olenna looking at her almost worriedly. “Dead?” 

“Yes, Little Fish. He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” 

And then darkness swept over her like a raven’s wing.

**

The realm between dream and waking was a constant companion for the next handful of days, each one swimming into the next without much fanfare in the small haven of her chambers. The only time she had spent out of doors was when she was requested to attend the gathering of nobility for a time of prayer over the body of the slain king, and she could only stand upright for a few minutes before she was allowed to leave. She hardly remembered any of the ceremony. The maester came and went, cleaning her wound and wrappings with little fanfare.

“I need a bath, Daisy,” she murmured. Her feet felt foreign as they touched the stone of the floor of her bedroom. “I can smell myself. It isn’t pleasant.” 

The frazzled form of Daisy quickly set out to have a basin dragged in and filled with near-boiling water. She followed it with floral soaps and then helped her lady undress and slowly lower into the water. Y/N groaned as the water rose around her, already feeling more human. But her head lulled as if it felt too heavy on her neck and the room spun for a moment.

“Is the temperature too hot, my lady?” Daisy asked as she started to soak a cloth in the water. 

“It is perfect, Daisy. You are too kind to me.” 

Daisy smiled and opened her mouth to reply when there was a knock at the door. Y/N curled her knees up to her chest for a semblance of modesty under the milk-colored water. The knock came again.

“Come back later!” Daisy hollered. 

And the door opened. 

Daisy screeched and stepped in front of Y/N’s tub to shield her from the intruders, yelling about sending for the guards and Y/N, still hazy from the Poppy, leaned forward just enough to see Prince Oberyn and Ellaria standing in her chambers. A shock of orange was seen in front of the door before it closed. 

“Our guards are standing watch. I assure you that Lady Tully is well protected,” Oberyn said with an easy smile. 

Ellaria draped herself in a nearby chair with a smile of her own. “How are you feeling, my lady?” 

“She is indecent,” Daisy nearly growled.

“It is fine, Daisy. They are friends and I cannot bring myself to care at the moment.” 

Daisy’s brow furrowed as she turned to look at Y/N. “Do you need water, my lady? Food?” A gentle hand pressed against her cheek, checking her temperature. “If you feel faint I can call the maester again.” 

Y/N smiled, knowing it probably looked crooked on her lips, and shook her head. “I am on the mend, Daisy. Thanks to your care. But, I promise you, I am in no danger with them.”

Daisy sighed and nodded. “I shall bring you fresh linens, then, for your bed.” 

Y/N thanked her and Daisy quickly stripped the bed before leaving the chambers, leaving her alone with Oberyn and Ellaria. 

“They have addled your mind with Milk of the Poppy.” The observation from Oberyn only earned a nod in return. “You will not feel yourself for a while longer.” 

Another nod. 

Ellaria stood and poked her head out the door, murmuring something to one of the guards before closing it again. She settled near the tub and grabbed the cloths Daisy had soaked and began to slide the cloth along Y/N’s arms and over her uninjured shoulder, the soaped water refreshing and hot. Y/N relaxed under her care and reclined against the back of the tub, uncaring that her breasts were starting to crest the water’s edge. 

“You were kept from us for days. Oberyn said you were whisked away during prayers,” Ellaria whispered as she dipped the cloth under the water to wipe against her stomach. “We worried.” 

Y/N smiled and moved to press her cheek against the warm lip of the tub. “I am sorry you were worried. I would have let you in, if I had known.” 

The cloth slid up her stomach to wipe across her left breast and then the right, taking care to avoid the wrappings hiding her ugly stitches. And Y/N could not help the hitch in her breath as Ellaria seemed to take special care to make sure she was clean. She looked up at her: dark hair loose and lovely, like waves crashing in the dark, and simply watched her as she worked. There, of course, was an undercurrent of something more to it, but perhaps that was just _Ellaria_. Just who she was and why almost everyone was so taken with her on sight. But she knew Ellaria meant to help, too. To wash away the bitterness of the past few days. 

A knock on the door had Ellaria turning toward Oberyn. “Would you answer that, my love?” 

Oberyn, _the prince_ , did as he was bid and opened the door only a fraction and spoke softly to whomever was on the other side before being handed something and closing the door again as they left. He carefully unwrapped the linen bundle to reveal a collection of small vials. 

“Come,” Ellaria said softly to him, her hands pausing in their ministrations. 

“Unlike you, my love, I have not been given permission to hold her as you do. I would not overstep, especially with her in such a state.” 

Y/N’s addled mind was coherent enough to understand what he was saying and pivoted just enough to look at him. The entire scenario should have never happened, if she was being honest. Her nakedness had always been something she’d been told was to be avoided, discouraged, even. And now she was in the company of a man she was not married to and a woman who was not her maid—it reeked of scandal if anyone happened upon them. But she couldn’t bring herself care. She lifted an arm from the water and held it out, dripping onto the stone with a steady beat. “You have my permission, my prince. You always have my permission.” She crooked a finger at him before needing to curl a little further into the tub as the room spun.

He smiled and closed the space between them and he settled on the other side of the basin and let Ellaria pull the small collection of vials from his grasp. Y/N watched as Ellaria emptied one and then two of the vials into the water and gently swirl it around. The scent of roses and blood oranges filled her nose and pulled a smile from her tired lips. 

“Lean forward for me,” Ellaria softly asked and Y/N did as she was told, nearly jumping as Ellaria poured water over her hair. Something was said to Oberyn as the water distorted her hearing but she didn’t mind. 

Y/N closed her eyes as Ellaria began her careful ministrations again and she heard the sound of another vial being uncorked. Another set of hands gently started to massage her scalp and it took her far too long to realize that it was Oberyn. Her hazy eyes opened again to see him smiling as he worked through her hair, filling the room with the scent of more roses, decadent and heady. Again, his touch was gentle and he was careful as he moved her head this way or that so he could make sure he had completed his task. He had rolled the sleeves of his tunic up to his elbows and his outer robe had been discarded, draped across the window seat behind him. The entire situation finally made a giggle fall from her lips. 

“What is so funny?” Oberyn asked with a smile of his own. He cupped his hands and brought a bit of water over her hair, starting to rinse it.

“A prince is washing my hair.” She laughed again and dipped her head back to help him.

“A prince serves his people, my lady.” His voice was soft. “And it is an honor to be of service to you.” 

Something bloomed in her chest then, as she looked into his dark eyes and watched him smile. It felt soft and comforting and all-encompassing all at once. It felt, as strange as it was, like home. And when Ellaria pressed a kiss to her rose-scented skin, she knew it wasn’t strange at all. 

“Your water grows cold. We must get you dry.” 

Before she could even think to try to stand, Oberyn hand plunged his hands into the water and wrapped an arm around her back and the other just below her knees and helped her to her feet outside the bath. And now she had no water nor suds of soap to disguise her nakedness from him. Water slipped down her clean, perfumed skin in rivulets as he held her steady, soaking the ends of his tunic sleeves. His gaze could have wandered. Could have taken in her body as no man has ever done before. But he kept his eyes on hers and remained careful and gentle as Ellaria found her a new chemise and dressing robe and they each helped her dry and into the clean clothes to avoid further injury. 

The poppy had continued to retreat, leaving her now in just a comfortable haze and she settled atop the stool in front of her small. Ellaria pulled another jar of rose-colored paste from somewhere she did not know and rubbed the salve into Y/N's hands with a careful touch. “You have both been very kind to me. I do not know what I have done or said to earn such care.”

“You are kind to us. We are kind to our friends.” 

“Is that what I am?” She asked with a laugh. “A friend?” 

Ellaria set down the jar, finished, and nuzzled her nose under Y/N’s jaw. Careful hands swept around her sides to hold her just under her breasts. “We can be more when you are well again.” 

“I feel like I am more to you now. I have never been held so softly.” The words were true and she never would have spoken them if her mind had been entirely clear. But oh, how she reveled in the touch.

Ellaria smiled against the side of her throat. “I would like to hold you for as long as you would let me.” But then she stood straight, touch slowly receding, and looked at Oberyn with a playful smile. “Come, my love. She is soft to touch. You have been wanting to hold her since her third letter arrived.” 

Oberyn chuckled. “It was her first, actually.” He stepped closer. “That first curl of ink had pulled me into its depths and I knew I’d never be able to recover.” And soon he was at her back. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the small bit of skin exposed where her neck met her uninjured shoulder. Y/N shivered and he trailed his fingers down her back. “You have bewitched me, my lady.” 

Y/N could only smile up at him in the reflection of her mirror. 

His hand curled under her chin and he tilted her face up so he could look at her properly. Dark eyes seemed to drink in her soft, tired features before he slowly, ever so slowly, leaned down to press his lips to hers. It was soft and gentle and still curled her toes into the silk rug beneath her feet. The simple touch left her panting as he pulled back. His thumb pressed against her bottom lip and he smiled again. “I knew you would taste sweet.” 

There was a rapid knocking at the door and Ellaria pulled it open, letting a flustered Daisy in, her arms laden with clean linens for the bed. “The Dornishmen guarding the door are quite scary, you know,” she murmured, casting a glance at Oberyn before hurrying to the bed to start her task.

“They are for her protection.” 

“Yes, but I am her maid, Prince Oberyn.” 

“Daisy,” Y/N managed to say, her mind buzzing for more than one reason. “Please.” 

Daisy huffed and shook her head but said nothing else, pulling the linens a little tighter than necessary across the featherbed. 

“We must go,” Ellaria said as she stepped to Y/N’s side again and pressed a slow kiss to the side of her mouth. “When you are able, tell one of the men at the door. They will lead you to us.”

“Must you leave?” Y/N asked. She reached out to grasp one of Ellaria’s hands but stopped as pain racked her body, pulling at the wound in her shoulder. 

“We have been far too selfish with you today already. You need rest. True rest without the Poppy pulling you into darkness. We are not leaving the capital until this is finished.” 

She should have asked what they meant. What they needed to finish. But Oberyn had pulled a silk scarf, black and stitched with yellow suns, from the folds of his robe and he gently tied it about her neck and then slipped her arm into it. “This will keep you still, help you to heal.” 

The scarf smelled like him, of spice and sandalwood and warmth. Y/N stood and curtseyed, a little off balance with the sling, but Oberyn bowed just the same before taking her other hand and pressing a kiss to the pads of her fingers, taking a deep breath in through his nose to fill his lungs with her scent. 

“Until we meet again, my lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there’s part two. There is a plot developing. I am thinking this entire story will be about eight chapters. What do you all think? I’d love to hear what you’d like to see, and what you hope happens. Thank you for reading. xx
> 
> And, just for reference, if you were curious, this is the scarf that he gives Y/N to use as a fancy sling. (Also, this scene will come into play...next time :) )  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdXIBhXjkCw


	3. Ripe Berries

It had taken her another two days for her to venture out of her chambers. Her legs felt weak and Daisy fretted over her like a mother as she helped her dress. “Shall I accompany you, my lady?” 

“I will have one of the guards with me, Daisy. You have been my constant companion these past days. Please, rest. I know I am not easy company.” 

Daisy shook her head with a small smile. “You are far better than all the rest of King’s Landing, my lady.” 

But still, Y/N set off with one of the Dornish guards at her side before the sun had crested the horizon, sneaking away from the prying eyes of the Keep. The streets of King’s Landing were still bustling. It still smelled like piss and soured bread. That had not changed. And there seemed to be very little mourning anywhere she looked despite the capital being draped in black. The only mention of the King’s death she heard was talk of how Dontos’ head was set on a spike at the Lion Gate while the rest of him had been strung upon spikes at the other Gates around the city. 

The guard beside her was kind and caught her as she stumbled. The stitches pulled the slightest bit but she was sure they were still intact. She was then bumped and jostled several more times by passersby, despite most making it a point to avoid her with the tall Dornishman at her side. Every contact hurt, pushing a tinge of pain through her tired bones. “Are you well, my lady?” He asked, voice soft as she grimaced and paused in the mouth of an alley. 

“Crowds, it seems, will be my undoing. Will our journey be much further?” 

“Just a few streets, my lady. I can carry you.” 

He said it so earnestly that she had to laugh. Y/N stood straight and touched his arm in thanks. “That won’t be necessary. But I thank you for the offer.” 

Her guard seemed unsure but carefully led her back onto the street and almost seemed to walk with his arms outstretched, pushing people away from her before they even came close. But, they eventually slowed to a stop in front of one of the many stables in the city. It was awash with Martell colors. Banners from their sworn houses were leaning on walls and their riding gear carefully placed among the stalls as the sand steeds waited patiently for riders. Each one was more beautiful than the last. “The Prince has requested you to take Lord Uller’s horse. He is a careful ride. You’ll be safe, my lady.” There were two horses readied for a journey near the other entrance, one a beautiful golden red and the other a tawny brown. The guard helped her onto the red stallion before mounting the brown. 

The guard led her out of the dark city and onto the Rosby Road. The sun had just started to rise and drenched the green grasses and small apple orchards in a pink and orange glow. 

“You have taken very good care of me. May I have your name, Ser?” 

Her guard smiled as he looked at her, cheeks dimpling. “I am Daemon Sand, my lady.” 

“You are from Godsgrace, are you not?” She had heard a story here and there of “the Bastard of Godsgrace” at tourneys and the ilk. She just hadn’t expected such a renowned swordsman to be so young.

The guard—Daemon—seemed pleased that she knew. “I am, my lady. My father, Ser Ryon Allyrion, is Lord of that fine keep.” 

The pair talked for a few moments longer as he led her further into smattering of valleys and orchards before they slowed to a stop. He dismounted and helped her to do the same. She noticed that there were a few guards posted about the valley, their banners fluttering slowly in the light wind. Daemon led her through the trees, snagging an apple as he went, and then paused as the trees thinned. She looked out to see a small, open-sided tent erected in the depths of the valley. 

“This is where I take my leave, my lady. But I shall escort you back when you are ready. You need only ask one of the other guards for me if I am not visible.” 

“Thank you, ser.” 

Daemon smiled again, dimples showing, and bowed before she turned and made her way down the dew-covered grass toward the tent. Even from afar, she could see a mess of linens and silks strewn across the tent’s floor. Overstuffed cushions and pillows gave way to a few golden tables stacked high with berries and apples and jugs of juice and water. Just as she ducked under the flap of the tent’s entry, she was swept up into an embrace in familiar arms, a kiss being pressed against her throat. “You have come, My Tully.” He was shirtless and his breeches were untied, leaving them loose around his hips. Something she only noticed as he released her.

Out of reflex, Y/N had looked up at the worn tent poles instead of appreciating his form. But the new nickname had her smiling. She liked being his—his Tully. “I am. And you must have been sleeping. I can come back later, my prince.” 

He laughed and grasped her hand, still mindful of her injured arm, dragging her further into the dark shadows of the tent. “I am wide awake, I assure you.” The pair slowed to a stop and he tugged at the knot of her sling and pulled the silk away from her, careful to not agitate her injury. The scent of him once again filled her nose, spice and sandalwood, but now mixed with something earthy, but much sweeter, she could almost taste it on her tongue. He loosely threaded the silk around his own neck before he took her hands in his and pressed them against his soft stomach and she found herself relaxing as she felt the soft warmth he exuded under her palms. “Touch me. As I have touched you. It is just skin, my Tully, meant to be touched. And I can think of few other hands I would want to feel.” 

It was a refreshing way to think of it, of nakedness. Just skin. And she would have to admit that she had wanted to feel his skin under her hands, wanting to know what he felt like, aside from the callouses on his hands. She smiled and did as she was bid, letting her hands wander over his stomach and chest, noting how his breath hitched the smallest bit when her nails started to scratch. 

“Good morning, my lady.” Ellaria’s voice called her attention to the full mound of pillows in the center of the tent, Ellaria was lounging there, sipping juice as she smiled. 

“G-good morning, Ellaria.” Her smile wobbled and Oberyn chuckled again before pressing a kiss to her neck. 

“No need for shyness now, my lady.” Ellaria slipped from the pillows and walked toward them, golden robe slipping open to reveal an expanse of tan skin of her thigh, and purpled bruises that Y/N knew instinctively would be the size of Oberyn’s hand. 

Realization dawned. The scent she’d been unable to place on Oberyn’s skin was a recent bout of fucking. They’d been fucking so recently she could still smell it. She wasn’t sure if she was sad she missed witnessing it or that she must have interrupted.

Ellaria’s robe was loosely tied about her waist, leaving her stomach and chest mostly uncovered, and with her sleep-mussed hair, Y/N knew she’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Ellaria licked her lips before teasingly pulling at the end of Y/N’s braid. She smiled, leaning over to kiss Oberyn over Y/N’s shoulder. “We are so happy you could join us. We needed a reprieve from the stench of the city.” They had been there since the night before last, paying the orchard’s owner handsomely for use of his land for a day or two. “Come,” Ellaria said, deftly, gently, pulling Y/N from Oberyn’s grip and leading her to the stack of pillows and cushions. “Sit with us.” 

Y/N did and Oberyn reclined against the pillows on her other side. He pushed an arm behind his head, a picture of refined hedonism amongst rumpled silk and linen. He and Ellaria both offered her easy smiles as they lounged beside each other even as she stayed a bit more upright between them, turned around so she could look at them both at the same time. It was then, she realized a bit belatedly, how young she must seem to them. Oberyn had daughters older than her and Ellaria had four daughters of her own. And here she was, an injured little thing in their domain.

“I had a dream about you last night, My Tully,” Oberyn said. 

“You did? And what was I doing in this dream of yours?” She couldn’t fight the smile growing on her lips. 

“You were laughing and running through the trees of a forest. No matter how fast I ran, I could not match your pace.” He propped his head up against his fist as he looked at her. “But then you stopped and I reached out—I nearly touched you—but you turned and roared and your bones twisted and turned and then there was a shadowcat at my throat.” 

“Were you afraid?” Y/N asked with a laugh. “Of me and my sharp teeth?” 

“No.” His voice was clear. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

Y/N smiled again and shook her head as she reached up to pluck a berry from a bowl. Red juice slipped down her fingers and she unconsciously sucked them clean. Two pairs of interested eyes watched her pink tongue lap at the juice with unreserved curiosity. 

“I love shadowcats. Before my father sent me to live with Uncle Hoster, my mother would make up these fantastical little games for me. We’d track shadowcats through the Mountains of the Moon and I’d pretend to be one and jump out to scare her from between trees.” A melancholy sort of happiness tugged at her heart, as it always did when she thought of her years in the Vale with her parents. “We found a cub once. So young their stripes hadn’t come in just yet. Oh, I begged and pleaded with Mother to let me keep him. I promised I’d feed him every day and not let him eat any of the knights’ horses.” 

“Did she let you?” Ellaria asked. 

“Thankfully, no. She told me a story of a man in Pentos who’d kept a shadowcat as a pet. One night, he left the cage open by accident and he was found in pieces the next morning.” Y/N laughed. “But I still loved them.” 

“Tell us more of your life.” Oberyn held out a berry for her to take but pulled his hand away when she reached for it. A finger tapped his lips as he held out the berry again. 

Fighting against her prudent upbringing and every instinct telling her it was too familiar of an act to be shared with someone who was not her husband, Y/N leaned forward and sucked the berry from his fingers. Her tongue curled around the pads of his fingers unconsciously, licking the juice away. She glanced up at Oberyn as she pulled back, seeing his mouth parted, watching her slick lips fall from his fingers. A jolt of arousal, sudden and swift, washed over her, doubling the coiling in her stomach that had started when she’d arrived. She quickly looked to Ellaria for a moment, trying to steady her heart. “What would you know?” 

“Tell us everything,” Ellaria said with a smile as she held a berry of her own. “We feel like we know your heart, but not your life.” 

Y/N tried to focus on Ellaria’s words and not the intent behind the innocuous berry. Everything felt so heady with them, so freeing. The simple act of eating berries had her clenching her thighs for a respite against the growing ache. “My life is not as exciting as I’m sure you’re hoping.” She leaned forward to eat the berry as Ellaria chuckled.

“We will be the judge of that.” As Y/N made sure to clean her fingers, just as she did with Oberyn, Ellaria pressed against her tongue and held her still for a moment. Just so she could look at her, eyes open and innocent, as she sucked on her fingers. 

But she eventually released her hold and Y/N nearly whimpered at the loss. But, she attempted to right herself and continued on. “My father is Brynden Tully. My mother was Vaella. She and her parents were servants in Pentos, slaves in all but name. Mother said they stole a boat when the skies were dark and they rowed until their arms gave out. But they eventually made it to Gulltown. Their lives were hard but they eventually made an honest living. Mother was young when she was selected to be a maid for Lord Arryn.” Oberyn fed her another berry with a soft smile, encouraging her to continue. Even as his thumb pressed against her bottom lip to catch a bit of juice and then he lapped it away. She swallowed hard. “Uncle Hoster had tried several times to get Father to marry; there was a Redwyne woman who he was particularly ardent in his efforts to have married to my father and several more after her. Each one he refused. He was happy with his sword and his adventures. When Cousin Lysa became Lady of the Vale, Father was raised to Knight of the Gate by Lord Arryn. He was happy with his duties there, too. Mother was sent down to the Bloody Gate for something, and there they met, under the shadow of the Mountains of the Moon. Everyone tells me that their love was meant for songs. They fell in love so easily, so readily and deeply.” She sighed, happy and sad all at once. “Lysa has always been very fond of Father and was happy to see him so besotted. She arranged for Mother’s family to approve, not that it took much convincing, and had them married in a small ceremony in the sept of the Eyrie.” She pulled at the end of her braid. “Uncle Hoster was furious, as you could imagine. His brother marrying a lowborn, foreign girl? The outrage. It did nothing but foster continued animosity between them. Even when I was born, a few moons shy of being polite to some,” she added with another soft laugh, “Uncle Hoster did not offer any kind words.” 

“But you were raised by your uncle. Surely he cared for you.” 

“Yes, Hoster was very kind to me, raised me as his own when father had me sent from the Vale. I was this curious little thing, just a few days shy of my seventh nameday, when I was put in a wheelhouse with Septa Hellicent and a handful of knights of the Vale escorted us all the way to Riverrrun. Hoster took one look at me and smiled. It was a golden childhood, to be sure. I wanted for nothing and knew my father and uncle cared for me. When I spent two years at Winterfell with cousin Catelyn and her children, it was like I had siblings of my own. Sansa was ever the little lady then, too. Robb and Jon were my age and adamant they were going to be knights worthy of rivaling Aemon Targaryen. Bran was little more than a babe when I left—and Arya had just started to pick up a bow—I tried to correct her form but she was adamant she knew best.” Y/N chuckled at the memory of Arya’s determined little face. 

“But why were you sent from the Vale?” Oberyn asked. 

Y/N sighed, happy memory fading. “Mother was killed by some man of the Sons of the Mist—a mountain clan in the Vale. Everyone believes his arrow was meant for Father by the way he fled back into the mountains as soon as he saw Mother collapse. She died in my father’s arms. I was too young to really understand what was happening. Septa Hellicent tried to explain it with soft words and prayers to the Seven. But Father then came into my chamber, armor still bloody and tears in his eyes, and simply told me she was dead. He kissed my forehead and then left.” She touched her lips to stop their trembling. She hadn’t thought of that moment in so long. “A man of few words, really. Not that I would ever blame him for it.” She cleared her throat. “He sent me away the next morn. I have not seen him since.”

“Your father refuses to see you?” He asked, tone questioning and bordering on anger. Ellaria reached toward him and placed a hand against his arm for comfort. A grounding force against his warring impulses.

“It isn’t that he refuses,” Y/N quickly tried to explain. “He simply cannot handle it. I favor my mother too much for his heart to take. My uncle explained it; he would rather have my absence than I have his anger—anger at the world, the gods. All he would see when he would look at me was how he failed and was robbed of the love of his life.”

“You do not fault him for it?” 

“I have wished that he would be there to teach me things only he could know, to wipe my tears when I am sad, laugh at my poor humor. But his loss is something I hope to never know as my own. He loves, me, I know. And that is my comfort.” 

Oberyn was quiet for a moment as he looked at her as she traced shapes into the silk of the pillow beside her bent knees. “One of my youngest daughters, I named her Elia.” 

“For your sister,” Y/N softly acknowledged. 

“Yes. I did it out of love—I love my sister—I love my daughter. But every time I see her, I become sad and then I become angry. Not at her. Never at her.” 

“But you worry she does not understand why you act the way you do.” Y/N nodded. 

“I cannot send her away as your father did. I’ve not the stomach for it.” He paused. “I wish for her to know I love her.” 

Y/N reached out and touched his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Then tell her. Every day. Tell her of her namesake and what your sister means to you. Tell her of the anger you feel at your sister’s cruel fate and that it is not meant to be directed at her. Tell her you love her.” 

Oberyn’s shoulders slumped. “Will she forgive me? As you have forgiven your father?”

“I’m sure she already has.” 

Oberyn smiled, just a small upturn of the corners of his plush lips. “I thank you, My Tully.” 

“Of course, My Prince.” She squeezed his fingers again before detangling her grip. She drew a silk blanket across her lap as she looked out one of the sides of the tent, watching the sky start to turn from pink to blue. “I haven’t watched a sunrise is so long.”

“It is good to see you out,” Ellaria said. “I was worried I would never see you again outside those castle walls.” 

“I’m not a prisoner.” 

“You are,” Oberyn said, smile disappearing. “You must do as you are bid by the lions or they will have your head. Your wrists might not be in shackles, but you are a prisoner just the same.” He sat straight and leaned closer to her. “I saw the way Tywin Lannister looked at you as you danced. Tell me what he said.” 

Y/N sighed. The memory of the old lion and their dance had been pushed to the recesses of her mind for the last handful of days. For a while, in her hazed mind, she had almost convinced herself that it had been an awful dream. But she knew that wasn’t true. And she knew she couldn’t lie. “He offered…to marry me. Make me Lady of the Rock. My second son would be Lord of the Riverlands.” Y/N turned away and pressed her fingers to her mouth again. She was so weak.

“What did you say?” Oberyn asked, voice low and commanding.

“I said nothing. Queen Margaery called me away before I was forced to answer. It has been a blessing, I suppose, that he did not come to visit my chambers when I was addled with Milk of the Poppy and might have said something to either accept or refuse.” She sighed. “They once told me that they’d never marry me to a brute. Dangled the throne of my family in front of me like a jewel. And I walked right into their grasp, didn’t I? Like a stupid little girl.”

Ellaria sat up as well and grasped her hands. “You are not a stupid little girl.” 

“I am,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to pull away from Ellaria’s soft grip. Unworthy of it. “I should have run to Dorne with Sansa. I never should have believed I could somehow stem the tide of the Lannisters sweeping over the Realm.” 

Ellaria raised her hands and kissed them. “You saw an opportunity. It would have been foolish not to take it.” 

Y/N nodded but felt little reprieve from her regret. “The Tyrells have offered Loras as another suitor. He is third in line for The Reach and Olenna thinks we would be able to make the arrangement work.” She laughed, bitter. “My two choices; Lannister or Loras.” 

“Must you only choose between them?” 

“I have been given no other options. And with Jaime refusing to leave the Kingsguard and Tyrion being a dwarf, Tywin wants more heirs. I assume they will want a decision soon. I am surprised he has waited this long.” There was a tense sort of quiet in the valley then. She watched a pretty pink cloud drift west across the sky, avoiding the pairs’ gazes. “Yes. A stupid little girl.” She wanted desperately to go back to as it had been just a few moments before; lovely and intoxicating and everything revolving around the promise of happiness. Not this talk of her inevitable doom.

A frantic galloping soon broke the silence and Daisy rode in, the second guard from outside her chambers was behind her, looking considerably less panicked. “My lady!” Her cheeks were flushed and she quickly dismounted. “Tywin Lannister is looking for you. Demands your presence at the Small Council this morning.” 

“What did you say when he was looking for me?” 

“I said only I would have you ready within the hour.” 

Y/N frowned and stood. “I must leave.” But she paused as she noted Oberyn standing too, donning his tunic and robe again and reaching for his boots. “My Prince?” 

“Tywin Lannister has given Dorne a seat at the Small Council. But I am not surprised he did not inform me there was a meeting today.” His robe was still undone as he stepped to her side after kissing Ellaria again. He pulled the silk he had stolen from her earlier from around his neck and once again made her a sling. “Shall we go?” 

They left after Y/N murmured a soft goodbye to Ellaria and Daisy trailed behind with Daemon and the other guard as she and Oberyn rode their horses ahead of the group back toward the Keep. It was quiet as they handed over the reins to the stablekeep. She couldn’t look at him, not even as he grasped her hand and tucked it into his arm. But it did give her a small amount of comfort to know he was still choosing to stand at her side. As they reached the Small Council chamber, he tightened his grip and pushed the door open before she could even think to pull away. Everyone else was already there, joined by Lord Mace Tyrell and Tyrion. Both Tywin and Cersei turned to see them and their gazes quickly found her hand on Oberyn’s arm. 

“Ah, I was wondering if you’d both received my message about this meeting.” 

“I received no message,” Oberyn said as he sauntered forward (and Y/N was quick to keep pace). “But Lady Tully was kind enough to mention it.” He smirked and then dropped his hold on her arm to pull a chair out for her. As she sat, he slid into the seat next to her. 

Tywin stared at her. “I was unaware that Lady Tully knew that Dorne had been given a seat on the Council.” 

She offered an easy lie; “we spoke at His Grace’s funeral, my lord. I did not mean any offence.” 

The old lion was quiet for a moment. “No. Of course not.” 

The meeting started and Y/N truly tried to pay attention to it, but found it hard when she felt Oberyn’s warm fingers slide across her knee. She pushed out a long breath to retain some sort of decorum. No telling of the scandal if his amorous touch was discovered in the present company. His fingers didn’t wander or retreat for the entirety of the meeting. Just settled over her leg, like an anchoring touch or a promise of something else. 

The only information that she truly retained was news from the East, of Daenerys Targaryen. The Last Dragon. Maester Pycelle had received a scroll, wound around two golden dragons, from Mereen only the night prior.

“The Dragon Queen has her sights set on conquering all of Essos, rebuilding the Valyrian Freehold. She no longer cares for the Iron Throne, states that this ‘pitiful realm has had enough of Targaryen blood.’” Pycelle set the scroll down on the table with a dull ‘thunk.’ 

“For good reason. The Realm is in debt—nearly six million gold dragons and the Iron Bank is coming to collect.” 

“Maybe the Dragon Whore will destroy the bank and do us all a favor-”

“No such thing will happen.” Tywin stopped Pycelle’s thoughts with a wave and then focused his eyes on Mace who withered under the stare. Talk quickly followed about The Reach helping to relieve the debt and then spiraled into how Margaery needed to actually be queen of the Seven Kingdoms before he even considered giving the Crown a single coin. But that was quickly put to bed, too. “King Tommen will marry Margaery within a fortnight. And The Reach,” Tywin gave another withering, pointed look toward the lord of the Reach, “shall pay for the festivities in full.” 

Mace paused for a moment and then nodded. 

It was interesting to watch the old lion be able to easily get what he wanted out of people. If it had been anyone else Y/N might have admired the blatant display of power. But soon, his stare was pinned on her and the meeting was adjourned. Cersei, draped in black, nearly smirked at her as she left the room and the rest of the Council soon followed. Only Oberyn remained behind with her and Tywin. She stood slowly. 

“Is there something you need, Prince Oberyn?” Tywin asked. 

“Yes, I was needing to speak to Lady Tully.” 

“About what?” 

Oberyn cocked his head to the side, still sitting in his seat. “It is a private matter.” His smirk started to spread. “I saved her life, did I not? Kept her from bleeding out when the fool shot her. She is safe with me.” 

It was said so casually that Y/N nearly didn’t catch that Oberyn had been the one to cradle her as she almost bled to death during the wedding. He had been the kind, frantic eyes she’d stared into, thinking she was going to die. The knowledge left her heart fluttering in her chest as she turned to Tywin with an easy smile. “It shall only be a moment, I’m sure, my lord.” 

Tywin looked at Oberyn again, jaw clenched, before bowing and walking toward the chamber door. But then he paused. And he turned back, aged face pulling into a sneer. “While you are both here; I know you are both fond of Ser Loras. Tommen has raised him to the Kingsguard.” 

Shock washed over her before she could even attempt to reign in her emotions. “Oh.” The single syllable wobbled in her throat. “That is happy news. A knight worthy of protecting the King.” 

Tywin’s smirk widened. “Yes. Happy news.” And then he turned and left.

As the door shut, Oberyn turned to her, standing from his chair. “I will not leave you alone with him. I could not bear the thought of it; of you being held by him, touched by his hands.” He grasped her face in a soft grip but his dark eyes were ablaze. “I will not let him have you.” 

Y/N reached up with her free hand to touch his wrist, curling her fingers so she could feel his rapid pulse. “I have little choice in the matter now, my prince. You know this. You heard what he’s just said. Loras cannot be married to me. Tywin is now the only suitor and I doubt any others will step up to challenge him. If I could spend the rest of my days in that tent with you and Ellaria, I would. But the gods are not kind in times like this.” As the words tumbled from her mouth, it seemed she had come to understand that her dalliances with the Prince of Dorne and his paramour were numbered. They would end. She could never hold him in her arms for all the Realm to see and he would never be able to walk with her unaccompanied. They were to be strangers again. Just as she had started to understand what had driven her father to scandal. It felt like a chill had settled in her lungs. “Kiss me. Just once. Let me pretend I could have a choice.”

His lips pressed against hers in a kiss harsh and demanding, pulling her lips apart with a practiced force and delving into her mouth. Her grasp on his wrist tightened as he loomed over her, curling his tongue around hers as she gave soft little whimpers against his lips and he poured all of his fear and frustration and care for her into the act. She could feel it with every beat of his heart. He was stealing her breath without care and her lungs sweetly ached. It was only when she pressed her hand against his chest, fingers sliding against his skin under his robes in a silent plea for reprieve, that he broke apart from her but his grip did not leave and he only drew back far enough for her to feel his labored breathing against her spit-slicked lips. “My lady, please, let me take you away from here.” 

Tears gathered in her eyes and she stepped back from him. His grasp on her dropped. “You know you cannot do that. It asks too much of you. Of Dorne. I would not see your family hurt because I was so selfish as to think-”

“I am the selfish one, My Tully. It is I who wants you close. Hang the rest.” He gathered her close again and pressed his forehead against hers. “I will not let him have you.” 

And as she closed her eyes and relaxed in his strong hold, she almost let herself believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or a comment. I cannot tell you how much it means to me. Thank you for reading. Please tell me what you think. xx
> 
> (Also, if you're wondering, Lord Uller is Ellaria's father and Daemon Sand squired for Oberyn)


	4. A Pentoshi Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments on the last chapter. You deserve all the nice things. Also, I'm sorry. :)

_Her mother once said, “You may have your father’s name, little one, but you have a Pentoshi heart.”_

_“What does that mean, Mother?” Y/N asked, eyes wide in childlike curiosity. Her little hands had grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s deep blue skirts as the wind rushed by, carrying the scent of evergreens._

_“It means,” she paused and cleared her throat, words warbling on her tongue in her beautiful, Pentoshi accent, “it means that you fling yourself into adventures without thinking of the consequences. That you destroy what you cannot control.” Vaella bent and held her daughter’s face in her hands. “You must take care, little one, that you do not lose yourself to someone who will drive you to your worst impulses.”_

_The words meant little to young Y/N, but she nodded and smiled at her mother. “I will try, Mother. To not lose my heart.”_

Perhaps she had been given too much time to think. Or maybe thinking was the only thing from teetering over the edge into despair. It had been almost two weeks since Tywin had announced that Loras had been raised to the Kingsguard. The second royal wedding was the day after tomorrow and she…hadn’t seen Oberyn since he’d kissed her in the Small Council chamber. 

Ellaria had been scarce in her visitations, too. They’d met only twice in the gardens for a few brief moments. There was something Ellaria was hiding, Y/N was sure of it. But she was too sad to question it. To ask for answers. To ask where Oberyn had gone. 

And the last time Ellaria had held her close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, she whispered, “you must be strong, My Tully.”

The sound of the nickname on Ellaria’s tongue almost relieved the weight she felt on her shoulders. She was Ellaria’s. She had been Oberyn’s, too. But that had been nearly a week ago. She’d only caught a glimpse of them at Tommen’s coronation celebrations. A single view of their golden and yellow skirts and robes and then they were gone and she was left to swear her fealty to the new king by herself. Little Tommen seemed too kind to really be king—but she knew he had been king before that silly crown was placed on his head. As soon as Olenna had shared the news of Joffrey’s death, she knew Tommen was king. Everyone had referred to him as king the day after Joffrey’s funeral anyway, the ceremony seemed redundant. 

Y/N was suddenly brought back to the present as something sharp sunk into her shoulder. The Maester had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued to haphazardly pull the stitches from her skin. “Nearly finished, my lady.” Daisy was standing at her back as the maester worked, trailing comforting fingers up and down her spine to distract her from the strange ache the procedure created. “These have been some of my finest work. The scars shall be minimal compared to what it could have been.”

Y/N wanted to tell him that the scars were still ugly no matter how “fine” his stitching may have been. It twisted from the edge of her collarbone to just under her arm, raised and discolored like a beacon of her misstep. There was a matching scar on her back. They’d had to cut her open to clean the wound properly, pouring firewine into her flesh to stop a possible infection. It was a small solace that she had been unconscious for that. 

To keep her mind from focusing on the pincers in the feeble hands of the Maester, she tried to think of anything else. It was a bit of advice her Uncle Hoster had taught her when she was still a girl and she’d fallen off her horse and into the rocky bed of the Tumblestone river, earning herself a nasty cut along her leg that required stitches. Uncle Hoster, she thought, dead and gone now—he’d died when she was on the kingsroad to represent the Riverlands at court and ask for the Crown’s protection against the raiders. Word only reached her after she’d settled into her chambers at the Keep. Gone. Just like that. Then there was Eddard Stark, calm and strong and if not a little sullen at times. He always had a kind smile for her. He was gone, too. Bran and Rickon killed by Theon in a coup at Winterfell. Catelyn and Robb dead as well. Arya was in the wind, as was her father. Edmure was a captive of the Lannisters and Sansa was in hiding in Dorne. Jon was at the Wall. What a mess. They’d been scattered like sand in the wind. 

This obviously was not a productive train of thought so she tried to focus on the dark but happy reality that Joffrey was dead. Dontos, too. Dontos who had tried to lead Sansa away from her teachings and plan. 

_“Dontos said he has a plan to get me out of King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered as they pretended to pray. She had told her of the note Dontos had placed beneath her pillow, swearing his fealty to Sansa’s cause as recompense for her saving his life. “He says he has a friend with a ship that will get me out. Take me home to Winterfell.”_

_“Do you believe him?”_

_“He seems to believe it.”_

_Y/N pushed out a long breath through her nose and tightened her clasped fingers. “Has he said anything else to you? Mentioned who this friend is?”_

_“No.” Sansa shuffled closer on the stone._

_The older of the pair paused for a moment. The knight-turned-fool was easily manipulated. There was no possible way he could formulate a plan—the fact that he managed to smuggle a note beneath Sansa’s pillow was suspicious enough. “Tell me what else he says.” She reached out and tugged at the end of Sansa’s loosened braid and a small smile finally touched Sansa’s pretty, pink lips. “But you trust me to get you out of here, don’t you?”_

_“You’re my family. The only family I have left in this terrible place. Of course I trust you.”_

The maester finished and she thanked him before he toddled out of her chambers. Silence stretched for a few moments, tense and sad.

“What can I bring you, my lady?” And poor Daisy continued to fret, noticing her lady’s dour mood. “There are fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens. I watched them bake this morning.” 

Y/N nodded and stood from her chair. “That sounds lovely. And any juice you can find.” 

Daisy nodded and scurried away, happy to see that Y/N was eating. Her meals had been sparse the last handful of days and had taken to only drinking water. It would be good for her to have something in her stomach. 

As the door closed, Y/N caught Daemon watching Daisy as she walked away and smiled despite her own melancholy. They would make a handsome match—and as Daisy was the fifth daughter of a Landed Knight, it wouldn’t be a preposterous one either. Perhaps she could speak to Daisy when she returned. But, for now, she rolled her shoulder and felt the pinch that came with disuse and the presence of new scarring. The blades she once sewed into her dresses and hid throughout her chambers had been hidden away at the bottom of her chest and covered with chemises and underclothes to keep any prying eyes from discovering them. She pulled two from the depths and carried through the familiar steps Ser Maegyr had taught her. One position into two and then the third and then back again, swinging and stabbing the blades through the air. _“Aim for the eyes, the throat, and the upper thigh, My Lady. All men bleed.”_

Her shoulder continued to pinch and quickly ached as she persisted in her steps.

_“Move fast and sure. Indecision will cost you your life.”_

She turned and did the steps across the floor, moving with each new pass. Thoughts trickled by as she tried to think of only Ser Maegyr and his training—but the thoughts came just the same. Of Tywin and his proposal. Of Ser Gregor and his threats. Of all the ways her family had been betrayed. Of Oberyn and Ellaria and their soft lips and beautiful words. She arced the blade in her left hand down and buried it into the soft wood of her vanity. The wood cracked and splintered as she yanked it out.

She hadn’t meant to do that. 

A knock at her door had her stashing the blades beneath a pillow and throwing on a dark blue dressing gown over her chemise before she opened it just a crack to see who was there—it was just Daemon. His light eyes searched her face as it was revealed, worry coloring his features. “My Lady? Are you well?” 

He must have heard the noise and thought something was amiss. “I am, Ser. I am sorry to have troubled you.” 

His dimpled smile appeared and he ducked his head. “You are never any trouble, My Lady.” 

Before she closed the door, she briefly thought of asking Daemon of Oberyn and Ellaria’s whereabouts. Daemon had been knighted by Oberyn himself—and of course, there had been whispers that Oberyn then took the young knight to bed. And where Oberyn went, Ellaria always was. Could she ask him? But her proper manners reared their head and quieted her tongue. “You are far too kind, Ser. Daisy should be back soon with lemon cakes. Please, take some for you and your brother in arms.” 

His smile widened. “Thank you, My Lady. They’re my favorite. But are you sure Daisy will not mind?”

“If you ask nicely and say I gave you permission, I suppose she’d be agreeable. Your dimples can work wonders, I’m sure.” 

A pretty pink filled his cheeks and she laughed for the first time in almost two weeks. She smiled at him and they said their goodbyes before she shut the door again and she picked up her blades and started to resume her steps. But then there was another knock at her door and she once again hid her blades away under her pillow. She smiled, thinking it was Daemon again or Daisy with the lemon cakes, but her face fell when Bernadette, Cersei’s handmaiden, stood in her doorway. 

“My lady, the queen has requested your presence in her chambers.” Her dark eyes slid down Y/N’s hastily tied gown and chemise. “Shall I help you dress?” 

“No. I can do it myself.” She closed the door and scowled before pulling open one of her chests and retrieving a simple, pale blue gown that tied at the sides instead of the back. She dressed before pushing her feet into soft-soled slippers. Y/N opened the door to see Bernadette eyeing Daemon and his counterpart with unmasked contempt and she stepped in front of them. “If you’re done eyeing my guards, you may escort me to Her Grace.” 

Bernadette flushed and dipped her head. “Yes, My Lady.” 

The walk was tense and quiet and Bernadette’s heeled shoes slapped against the stone floor and the sound echoed through the halls, grating on Y/N’s last nerve. It was a strange relief to see Cersei’s apartment door. 

Bernadette knocked and glanced at Y/N before opening it, “Lady Tully, Your Grace.” 

Y/N cast one last look at Bernadette before stepping inside and making sure the maid stayed out in the hall. 

“Sit,” Cersei said, pointing at the chair on the other side of her desk without looking up from the parchment and ink she was focused on. 

Y/N did as she was told and watched Cersei write, scratching away at the parchment with a subdued flourish. It was a silly little power play. One she knew well. But she still knew how to play the dutiful loyalist and could sit still for hours while Cersei pretended to not see her. 

After a few moments, Cersei set down her quill and looked Y/N over. “You are healing well.” 

“Yes, Your Grace. The maester relieved me of my stitches this morning.” 

Cersei hummed and sat back in her chair. “There has been such whispers about you, Lady Tully. You just cannot seem to stay out of harm’s way.” Cersei’s cold green eyes stared at her shoulder, knowing where she had been injured. “It seems being aligned with my family has given you scars.” 

“Nothing that can’t be covered up, Your Grace. Scars fade with time.” 

“Indeed they do. But, you have been remiss in keeping your maids beside you. Wandering the halls like a servant, unaccompanied.” 

“I only have Daisy, Your Grace. I found it more timely to have her run to the markets or the kitchens for me than to follow me around the Keep. I did the same at Riverrun. I have never cared to have a shadow.” 

“But you care for the Dornish guards outside your door?” Cersei asked, head tilting just so.

Y/N offered an easy, sad smile. “Prince Oberyn insisted, Your Grace, after the…wedding.” She pressed as much false sadness into her tone and dipped her head. “I have tried to tell him it was not necessary—that the Keep is safe. But who am I to argue with a prince? And the one that helped save my life, at that. I’m sure they will depart soon. I am terribly sorry if they have caused a fuss for the Kingsguard.” 

“I would have them replaced. Two of the finest knights from the Westerlands outside your door.” 

Another scheme, it seemed. Another move across the board. “That is a very kind offer. But I am afraid I must refuse. The finest knights should be guarding King Tommen, should they not? But I shall send the Dornish knights away today. It is not a matter to me.” 

“His Grace has the King’s Guard.” 

“Of course, but surely his protection is paramount to mine. Dontos-”

“Is dead, Lady Tully. Have you not seen his head on the spike at the gate?” 

Y/N shook her head. “I’m afraid my injury has left me inside the Keep’s walls aside from the coronation and funeral. I’ve not had the opportunity to venture out otherwise.”

Cersei took a sip of her wine and arched a blonde eyebrow. “I offer you a great service, Lady Tully. And you refuse it. Father told me you tried to refuse sitting at our side at the wedding. Have we done something to insult you so?” 

Cersei’s hidden meanings and loaded questions had not dulled with the death of Joffrey. If anything, Y/N saw that the queen had started to lean more heavily into thinly veiled insults or threats. A tired game, to be sure. “Of course not, Your Grace. Your family has been far kinder to me than I feel I deserve.” 

“And you feel you are not right to marry my Father?” Cersei asked point blank.

“I am not sure if I would be a worthy Lady of the Rock,” she said simply. “I am the only daughter born to a second son and a foreigner. One is dead. The other is a traitor. I am not quite the match a man of your Father’s station should require.” 

“And yet, he’s inclined to choose you still. Despite your…shortcomings.” Cersei almost smiled and took another drink of wine. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” 

Y/N stayed silent, watching Cersei watch her over the rim of her chalice. 

Cersei set down her chalice and steepled her fingers atop her desk. “I’m going to give you advice. The same advice I gave that bitch Sansa before she disappeared.” She leaned forward in her chair. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” 

“I do, Your Grace.” And she did. The advice was cruel but kind in equal measure, a way to survive the perils of marriage to man you could not love in any capacity. It was easy to see that bit of advice had seen Cersei through her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was another crack in her armor. 

Cersei nodded and sat back and took another gulp of wine. “It’s just as well, you know. Father loved Mother with a fierceness that can never be replicated.” The Queen Regent fixed her green gaze on the younger woman. “He will never love you. All the stories you’ve read in the dark of your rooms as a girl, of dashing knights and love, they do not exist.” 

Y/N straightened her shoulders. “I never cared for fairytales or love stories, Your Grace.”

Cersei smirked. “And of what did you care to read?” 

“War.” 

Cersei pushed out a short laugh through her teeth. “Perhaps you are more suitable than you think, Little Lamb.” 

A knock at the door broke the tightly wound atmosphere of the room and Bernadette stepped in. “Lady Olenna, Your Grace.” 

Olenna then barged into the room and her dark eyes swept from Cersei to Y/N. “Ah, I was told you were here. I need to speak with you.” 

Y/N turned to Cersei who had pursed her lips. Of course, seeming to look to the queen regent for guidance was just another way to masquerade as someone who cared about what she said. Cersei paused and then nodded. 

“Come, Little Fish. I don’t have the virtue of time.” 

Y/N sighed and rose and followed the Queen of Thorns back out into the hall after quickly curtseying. Bernadette started to follow when Olenna turned and eyed her up and down. “You can stay here.” Olenna looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We are perfectly capable of walking on our own. Thank you.” 

The handmaiden essentially shriveled up into herself at that and curtseyed before retaking her place outside Cersei’s doors, red in the face. But all Y/N could see was the hulking mass of The Mountain now standing guard in the shadows. His dark eyes raked down her form as they had hundreds of times before and he actually licked his lips like a hungry dog. Thankfully, Olenna didn’t seem to notice or did not care and continued to pull Y/N along. Two Tyrell handmaidens followed several paces back.

“It is as if they don’t trust me,” Olenna said loudly. 

Y/N wordlessly thanked her companion with a gentle squeeze to her arm and let the older woman lead her out of the Keep and into the godswood without much passing between them aside from trivial conversation about the preparations for the second royal wedding. As they were firmly planted within the shade and greenery of the godswood, Olenna pulled them both to a stop. The two handmaidens had stayed at the gate, surreptitiously turning their backs to give the two high-borns privacy and to keep others away.

“You are quite the challenge, aren’t you, Little Fish?” Olenna chuckled and they settled on the stone bench Y/N and Sansa used to favor. “Everyone thinks they want your loyalty. Everyone thinks they have it.” Olenna patted her hand. “You would have made a fine Lady of the Reach.” 

“No longer wanting to marry me to Lord Willas? I’m almost insulted, Lady Olenna.” 

Olenna chuckled. “The Lions have their games, we have ours. But, no, Little Fish. It seems as if you are not meant to be a Tyrell.” 

“A shame. I have heard Highgarden smells much more pleasant than King’s Landing.” She bit back a sigh. “Why have you requested my presence? We no longer have anything to offer one another.” 

A titter escaped Olenna’s lips. “Abandoning hope already? I must have mistaken you for a fighter.” 

Y/N turned and tried not to glare. “Tywin Lannister has essentially proposed marriage. There is no fighting him. No other man in this damned city would dare stand against him.” But the anger she’d felt bubbling slipped out of her like a wave and left her sagging in her stone seat. “I’m going to be his broodmare and provide him with another heir and then I can only hope that my second son will become Lord Tully. My home in the clutches of lions. I’m almost tempted to leave it to the Freys. They’ll never hold it.” Y/N closed her eyes and sat straight to angle her face toward the sun, trying to feel its warmth instead of the turmoil in her stomach. “It’ll be besieged and seized over and over again until they abandon it. It will become a mess of rock and rubble in a handful of years.” 

“Are you a witch, too? Such terrible visions you have, Little Fish.” The tone of her voice was as close to sympathetic as Y/N had ever heard it but she did not pull away from the sun. “But I, too, would rather see Highgarden in ruins than in the hands of the lions.” 

Y/N nearly startled as Olenna gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened to see Olenna smiling softly at her, a look she had thought reserved for Margaery. “You offer something very precious. In time, you will see.” She tapped Y/N’s cheek and then stood. “It seems you will make allies of us all.” Olenna paused and fished something from the pocket of her dress and handed it to Y/N. “For your scarring.”

It was a small, green jar about the size of her palm. Y/N twisted the top of the jar off and the scent of mint and roses hit her nose, filtering from the white paste carefully spooned into the jar’s depths. That was the closest thing she would get to an apology for being maimed. 

“Let us get you back to your rooms. You need your rest.” 

Y/N stood and let Olenna once again wrap an arm around hers and they walked back into the cold shadows of the Keep. As they neared her chamber door, Y/N noticed that only one guard was standing sentry—and her door was ajar. The guard’s eyes widened just a fraction as she neared with Olenna at her side. Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped from Olenna’s hold and pushed the door open completely, letting the hinges squeal. 

Daemon and Daisy were half dressed on the silk rug beside her bed, obviously in a heated embrace. Crumbs of lemon cakes and droplets of juice littered the rug as they continued to kiss and tug and haphazardly try to get each other’s clothes off. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Olenna said, fighting a smirk as she peered into the room. Her handmaidens were on their tip toes behind her, trying to steal a look, too. She waved them back and patted the remaining, fully dressed, guard on the shoulder before the door closed. 

Even then Daemon and Daisy did not separate. 

Y/N tilted her head to the side as she watched them, half amused that they hadn’t noticed her, half heated at the sounds they pulled from each other. Little gasps, muffled moans, as hands slid across skin and slipped under armor and cloth. It took Y/N a moment to gather herself before clearing her throat. 

That was what finally did it. 

Daisy’s eyes opened and she gasped and shoved Daemon off of her and he flopped onto the stone with a slap. She shot to her feet and curtseyed, “My Lady.” 

Daemon was slower to rise, a smirk already pulling at his lips as he bowed, uncaring of his bare chest or half-tied breeches. “Lady Tully.” 

Y/N reached out and righted the strap of Daisy’s chemise. “Did you at least save me some lemon cakes?” 

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. “No, My Lady.” 

Y/N turned to Daemon before bending and grabbing his tunic from the rug and handing it to him. “When I said to ask her if she’d share lemon cakes, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Ser Daemon.” 

He pulled the tunic on and then reached for his outer robe which had been rolled into a ball near her vanity, as if it had bene shucked off in haste and then forgotten. “She is a master negotiator, My Lady.” 

Daisy looked like she was trying to scowl but a giggle slipped out instead. “I am so sorry.” 

“You both are very lucky no one else noticed your indiscretions. Will you be a bit more cautious in the future?” 

“Will there be a future?” Daemon asked softly as he looked to Daisy, eyes open and hopeful as his small smile pushed his dimples to full display.

Y/N felt the urge to look away and she was thankful she did as she heard Daisy whisper, “perhaps, Ser.” 

Both of them redressed as Y/N settled on the soft blankets of her bed, a little selfishly happy that they hadn’t used her bed. The pair avoided eye contact with each other (and Y/N) before Daemon slipped out. It was quiet for a beat and then two.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“My Lady, I am so sorry-”

“You deserve to be happy, Daisy. I’ve told you that. If Ser Daemon makes you happy, I am pleased.” She reached out and touched Daisy’s hand with a smile and fought the urge to tease. “But please, take care to be a bit more discreet next time.” 

Daisy’s blush continued and she nodded. “Of course, My Lady.”

**

The ceremony came and went and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting with how long she had to press a fake smile to her lips. Kevan Lannister and his wife were once again at her side during the ceremony and Lady Dorna had taken it upon herself to link arms with Y/N as the group walked from the Sept of Baelor toward the Keep for the festivities. Dorna prattled on about her life in Lannisport and Y/N managed to interject a time or two to make it seem like she was listening but she begged off as they reached the grounds.

“I must admit I’ve worn the wrong shoes, My Lady. If I am to dance, I must change them.” 

“Oh, you must!” Dorna agreed. “But do not be absent too long. Your presence shall be missed.” 

Y/N smiled again, teeth near rotting, and hurried away. But she did not stop at her chambers. Did not stop at the Holdfast. She raced as fast as she could to the top of the west turret and only drew in a full breath as she touched the rusted railing and the door slapped shut behind her. 

Sleep had evaded her the night before. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Tywin’s face, Gregor’s face, Cersei’s face. All of them snarling and slobbering and growing pointed teeth to devour her whole. The fleeting happiness she had found in teasing Daisy or Daemon for their newfound fondness for each other was short lived when she realized that she would never be held like that, kissed like that. The Prince of Dorne and his Paramour had not looked at her as they walked by when the ceremony was over. Ellaria’s arm had been tucked into Oberyn’s and they spoke softly to one another as Y/N craned her neck to try to get them to notice her. They didn’t.

And as much as she had said that she had not cared for stories of romance or fairytales, she did. She had wanted what her mother and father had: an all-consuming, passionate type of love that stretched into the grave. 

It had been a childish dream to think she had tasted it on the tongues of the Dornish couple. She realized that now. All she had been was a game to pass the time. Surely that was all she had been. A childish game.

And it had been childish to run up here, thinking the air and wind could ease the pain in her chest or the slow constriction she felt about her throat. All it did was give her a view of the city she hated and a small reprieve from the stench. 

“Lady Tully.” 

She turned at the sound of the voice and was surprised to see Jaime Lannister standing near the door leading down into the Keep. The wind caught his white Kingsguard cloak and it fluttered in the wind, giving him the appearance of some roguish prince. His golden hand glinted in the sunlight. “Ser Jaime.” She dipped her head. “I thought His Grace would have you at his side.” 

“It is for His Grace that I am here. King Tommen has asked where you were.” 

Sweet Tommen. And the small smile the knight gave her reminded her of the smiles the prince, now king, had happily shared at Joffrey’s wedding. “I just needed a moment, Ser. Just a moment.” There was no chance she was going to start confiding in the Kingslayer—even if there had been rumors he’d been much changed since his captivity and the loss of his hand. He was still a Lannister. 

And it was because of his refusal to leave the Kingsguard that she had even come into this position. 

A future at Casterly Rock. Unloved and used for the prize between her legs. 

“You are standing close to the edge, My Lady.” There was actual concern in his voice. How preposterous! 

“I would not give anyone the satisfaction of throwing myself off a turret. And I would not spoil another royal wedding. Air, Ser, is all I needed. Away from…this.” 

“Then I shall stand here until you are ready, My Lady.” 

And it was said with such soft conviction and that damned concern that it snapped in her chest. Maybe she should throw herself from this turret and be done with her warring emotions and the frivolity of wanting to be loved or thinking she could make a smidge of difference in this wretched world. To end it before it began. It would be a hollow victory, to be sure. She’d rob Tywin of another wife for a moment but he would find another. The Freys would hold Riverrun for a time but it would be destroyed and returned to the mud from whence it came as the riverlands devolved into infighting. The Crown would have to deal with that, again. But she would not see it happen. And Sansa would still be alone in Dorne, without an outside ally. 

She was crying in earnest before she could stop it and the metal groaned under her tightening grip. Y/N heaved under the weight of it all. How stupid she had been. How optimistic. The only good thing she had done was save Sansa.  
And, as she looked up into the clear, blue sky, she knew that had to be enough. 

Y/N sucked in a breath and calmed her tears, wiping the salt away from her skin with the dark blue cloth of her bell sleeves. The wind dried the rest. She took a calming breath, then another, before turning and looking at Jaime. “Shall you be my escort to the festivities, Ser?” 

He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth open and expectant, but he closed it and nodded. “Yes, My Lady.” He held out his arm for her and she took it and let him lead her back into the fray. 

“I would…I would prefer if no one else knew of what transpired on the turret, Ser.” 

“No one will.” 

She nodded, almost believing him, as they entered the grounds. Once again, it was awash with Lannister red and gold and filled with food and people and entertainers. The famed knight led her through the throngs of people and toward the head tables reserved for the Tyrells and Lannisters and her stomach sunk at the sight of the empty chair at Tywin’s side. The smirk on the old lion’s face when he saw her only confirmed it: she would be sitting beside him. 

“My son, you are kind to deliver Lady Tully to us.” 

“I needed to change shoes if I was to dance, My Lord.” She smiled. “I apologize for my absence.” 

“Think nothing of it, My Lady.” Tywin stood from his seat. “If you would join me.” He held out a hand toward her as he reached her side. 

And she left Jaime’s hold and slid into Tywin’s without blinking. There would be no fight. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. For escorting me.” 

Jaime dipped his head and glanced at his father before standing beside the other members of the Kingsguard, hand over his sword’s hilt. 

Tywin wordlessly led her out into the couples already dancing and pulled her close as he began the steps. The familiar scent of leather and clove swept under her nose and it took a concentrated effort not to wrinkle her face in an attempt to get away from the smell. 

“Cersei has said you refuse to send your Dornish guards away.” The tone was reminiscent of Hoster scolding her as a girl when she would not eat the fish on her plate for supper. 

“I only thought it polite.” Thankfully, the steps of the dance were easy and the turns kept giving her opportunity to slip from his grip, if even more a moment. 

“Yes, you seem very polite with Prince Oberyn.” 

“He saved my life, My Lord. I would not repay his kindness with enmity.” 

Tywin pushed out a long breath through his nose as he stepped back to let her turn under his arm. “You are overly concerned with politeness.” 

“It is a woman’s duty to make sure guests are respected and cared for. Prince Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council and is a renowned warrior, I would not deem myself above him in any circumstance. If he feels the need to put guards at my door, it would be rude to refuse him, would it not?” 

Tywin’s thin lips pulled into a smile and she had never been so terrified. “A fine lady you are, Lady Tully.” The dance ended and they clapped but Tywin did not move from her side. “But Prince Oberyn has said he will no longer fill Dorne’s seat at the Small Council. He leaves in three days’ time to return to Sunspear. He has promised another will be elected to fill the seat.” 

Tywin did not care if House Martell filled the Dornish seat on the Small Council. She knew it. He thought he had won the game against Oberyn and his quest for vengeance against the Lannisters and the Mountain. Perhaps she did not know Oberyn as well as she thought. But how well did she, could she, have known him? What were a handful of conversations and stolen kisses? 

Nothing. They were nothing. And something cold and broken settled in her bones then. They were leaving. Even if they had not spoken to her in weeks, she still felt the news like a slap to the face. And perhaps that is what it was. She was tossed aside in the end, a sad little thing to be scooped up into the paw of a lion. 

After another dance, Tywin excused himself to speak with Mace Tyrell and Y/N curtseyed as he left her side, thankful to see Margaery waving her over. It was an easier distraction, the fake smile was almost real. Tommen was smiling beside his new queen and their hands were clasped together, nearly hidden under the table cloth. 

“It is good to see you well, My Lady,” Margaery said. 

“I am happy to be able to fully enjoy the festivities, Your Grace.” She turned to Tommen. “And you look happy in married life.” 

Tommen’s cheeks pinked and he looked at Margaery who smiled sweetly at him. “I am. The Seven have blessed me with a fine wife.” His blush only grew as Margaery pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to his hand. 

“You must ask your fine wife to dance then, Your Grace. Keep her happy.” Y/N winked as Tommen paused and then scrambled to his feet and held out his hand for Margaery to take. She did with a wide smile and the crowd parted for them as they made their way closer to the bard and minstrels. Y/N watched them dance, Margaery smiling as she coached Tommen through the steps. They were a pretty picture. 

Tyrion stepped to her side and handed her a full chalice of wine. Y/N took it with a soft ‘thank you, my lord,’ and quickly drained its entirety. “You are not well, Lady Tully?” He took the chalice from her and signaled for it to be filled again as he led her closer to his table at the far end of the raise dais and away from some of the crowd.

“I’m waiting to be shot again, My Lord. The last wedding I attended was much bloodier.” 

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “You are safe here,” he murmured. 

“Is anyone truly safe anywhere?” She took the refilled chalice and took her time sipping on the burgundy liquid as she turned to look out over the crowds, half-hoping to see the Dornish prince and his paramour. She took a hearty gulp when she didn’t see them, in relief or sadness, she did not know. “But my feelings should not spoil your fun, Lord Tyrion. I thank you for the wine.” 

Just as his brother did before, Tyrion looked as if he had more to say. But he didn’t and dipped his head. “I am at your service, Lady Tully.” 

The rest of the festivities slipped by. Tyrion danced with her twice and then Kevan Lannister asked for a turn, too. Margaery pulled her from her seat when the minstrels played a tune and called for a dance for only the women to enjoy. She ate roasted boar and honey-coated carrots and drank wine and smiled when she needed but kept quiet in her seat for most of it. Tywin did not offer any conversation and she glad for it. Simply sitting beside him was exhausting. It was as if she was constantly waiting for him to do something, say something. But, as the sun started to set and painted the grounds a soft pink, a knight from the Westerlands approached their table and whispered something into the Hand’s ear. 

Tywin’s lips pulled into a thin line and he stood. “Excuse me.” 

Y/N watched him go and briefly wondered what had caused him to leave so abruptly. But soon calls for the bedding filled the air and Margaery and Tommen were carried away by a riotous crowd and the festivities were quickly devolving into more lecherous frivolity as they usually did at weddings—the dances were closer, the music faster and heady. Wine was gulped and kisses stolen as the shadows grew darker. Y/N let herself enjoy being a voyeur for a moment and waited until the sky was a beautiful, deep purple before she excused herself. Daisy was waiting for her near the gates to the grounds and they quietly walked back into the Keep, both tired for different reasons. They spoke softly of their time at the festivities, vastly different experiences glaringly apparent. Y/N thought Daisy must have managed to sneak away with Daemon by the blush still touching her cheeks. 

They rounded the corner toward her chambers and froze as they watched servants carrying her belongings out of her room. “What are you doing?” She reached out and pulled a dress from a bundle in a girl’s arms. “Where are you taking my things?” 

“Lord Tywin has said your rooms are to be moved to the Tower of the Hand.” 

“No!” Y/N barked out, pulling more and more of her belongings out of the strangers’ arms and Daisy quickly followed suit. “I have not accepted this move. You cannot just take-”

“Of course they can. I ordered them to do so.” 

Y/N spun to face Tywin, clutching her chemises and dresses to her chest like armor. “You overstep, My Lord. I have not accepted your proposal. It would be indecent of you to put me in such a position.” 

“Accept my proposal and it would not be indecent.” 

“I must have time to think.” She hated how weak she sounded, how desperate. “I have to speak with the Grand Septon, for guidance and prayer before I can make such a decision.” She didn’t and she never would but she hoped playing to his sense of chivalry, no matter how skewed it had become, may work in her favor. She felt her arms starting to shake with how tightly she was holding her mess of fabric to her chest. It felt like there was a hand over her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs as she stared at him. 

Tywin stared at her, eyes hard. Then, he held up a hand and the flurry of movement ceased. “Bring Lady Tully’s belongings back to her original room.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment and she watched as they filed back into her room, like a group of soldiers from the corner of her eye. But she did not take her gaze away from Tywin as he stepped closer. “This will be the only time you defy me.” He then stepped away and disappeared into the shadows. 

It wasn’t until Y/N was alone in her room with a chair against the locked door, did she collapse, struggling to pull in air as she wept into her blankets. Daisy had quietly left after helping her to refold her dresses and chemises and placing them back in her chests. Y/N curled into a ball on her featherbed and tried to remember something Oberyn and Tywin and Cersei couldn’t touch. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

“Let me be your champion!” Jon’s voice echoed, followed by Robb, “I am your Dragonknight!” 

But where were her Dragonknights now? Dead or wearing a cloak of black. She had no knights. Not anymore. 

“You must be your own knight,” she whispered into her pillow. But she knew she wasn’t a knight. She was a fish out of water. Surrounded by lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	5. Pretty Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are trigger warnings for this chapter: attempted sexual assault and murder. Please do not read if these upset you.

A knock at her door had Y/N groaning. Every bit of her body felt heavy and she wanted nothing more than to pull the blankets up over her head and to forget that she was a person for another handful of hours. Sleep had evaded her for most of the night, leaving her tossing and turning as she mulled thoughts over in her head until she was sure she was losing her grip on reality. But Y/N’s buzzing mind, right before she finally slipped into a dreamless sleep, had come to the conclusion whatever happened with Oberyn and Ellaria had been beautiful and short and a game. A game she didn’t know she was playing. The Dornish Prince saw an opportunity to get under the Lannisters’ skin and took it. She could not blame him, but that did not mean it eased the ache of her heart. She had almost been in love, she was sure. Almost. And maybe, in time, she would be able to look back at those handful of days with a fond smile and delude herself into thinking she had been loved once. 

The knock came again, louder and more insistent. 

“Daisy?” The name was slurred on her tongue. It felt like her eyes had sealed themselves shut and she wiped a hand over her face as she sat up, knocking her mussed pillows to the floor. It was still dark in her room, the barest hints of sunlight had started to turn the dark sky into a hazy type of cerulean blue. Her still-sleeping mind took a moment to realize there was a hushed argument happening outside her door. Y/N slid off her bed on uneasy legs and pulled her dressing gown from her vanity before clumsily tying it about her waist. She slipped over to the door and moved the chair away before opening it. 

Daisy and Daemon were standing steadfastly in front of her door, shielding it from two Lannister knights. The group turned as they heard the door open. 

“Lady Tully. You are requested to appear before the King in the throne room at once-”

“She is indecent!” Daisy hissed. “You must give her time to ready herself.” 

“Lady Tully-”

“She will be ready momentarily, Ser. Be patient.” Daisy quickly stepped into the room, pushing Y/N backward, before slamming the door shut. Anger colored her face a vibrant red and she marched up to one of the chests and yanked the top open and rifled through Y/N’s fine dresses until she pulled a dark blue one out. All the while, she was grumbling to herself about “stupid lions” and Y/N would have found it hilarious if she could blink without something aching. “We must get you dressed, my lady. I’m sure they’ll skewer Ser Daemon and knock down the door if we are not swift.” 

She was soon dressed and once again looked like a respectable, high-born lady. “What do you suppose this is about?” Y/N asked as she slipped into her heeled boots. There was something dreadful twisting her stomach, like a premonition of some terrible deed not yet carried out. 

Daisy shook her head as she started to lace them. “I do not know. But nothing good comes at this hour.” She stood as she finished and grasped Y/N’s hands. “But I shall stand behind you, whatever it is.” 

Y/N smiled and reciprocated the squeeze before dropping their hold and straightening her shoulders. “Then let us go. To our doom or otherwise.” 

Daisy nodded and opened the door. Daemon had continued to stand sentry between the chamber door and the Lannister guards and stepped forward only as the pair of women appeared behind him. “I shall lead them, Sers,” he bit out. The leather of his gloves creaked as his hold on the hilt of his sword tightened. 

The Lannister men looked at each other and nodded tersely before turning and walking away toward the throne room. Y/N’s fingers curled around Daemon’s shoulder and squeezed in thanks before he led them out. The small group was quiet as they walked—quiet enough to hear the din of an assembled crowd as they neared the throne room. 

“Be strong, my lady,” Daemon and Daisy whispered. 

The doors opened and the murmurs grew in volume. Spectators thinly lined the walls as Tommen sat on the Iron Throne. Margaery was perched next to him on an ornate chair and their hands were clasped over the sharp spikes of the melted swords on the arm rest of the throne. Cersei and Tywin were seated on the raised dais, too. Each on their own chairs, emblazoned with roaring lions and red silk. 

While Daemon and Daisy were forced to leave her side, Y/N continued down the center of the grand hall. She felt every single pair of eyes follow her steps. Sweat slicked her palms as she neared the dais but she refused to show any fear or sadness. She had cried enough for two lifetimes. If this was to be her fate, she would not whimper. Y/N curtseyed as she reached the edge of the dais and looked up at Tommen. “Your Grace. How may I be of service?” The doors to the Hall shut and it seemed to echo for ages.

Tommen, the sweet boy-king, looked like he was trying to fight a smile as he looked at her. “Lady Tully. I apologize for waking you at this hour. But I have come to learn some troubling news.” 

“It seems your father has retaken Riverrun,” Tywin cut in. The Hand of the King pin near glistened in the torchlight over his heart. The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms was staring at her.

“Is that so?” She hummed, ignoring her leaping heart. “I’m sure he won’t hold it for long.” 

Tywin sat forward in his seat and stared at her. “Robb Stark is said to be within the castle’s walls.” 

Something jubilant and dreadful all at once gripped her heart and whispers quickly slid through the crowd like a snake. “I was told Robb died at the Twins.” 

“So was I.” The older man did not move his eyes from her face. “The time has come, Lady Tully, for you to show your true allegiance. You must marry—an ally to the Crown. Before you are to take your rightful place as the Lady of Riverrun, Protector of the Trident.” 

The whispers grew, all the crowd’s words slithering together in a hiss in her ears. Her mouth went dry as if it had been stuffed with cloth—and now she could not stop her hands from shaking. When she would be married to Tywin, she would only be the Lady of Riverrun in name. She was sure she would never see its beautiful, red brick with creeping ivy. Never hear the roar of the rivers from her chambers. She would have her home—just out of reach. “My loyalty has never been in question before, my lord. But I…” she swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Tyrion and Jaime were standing off to the side of the throne, both wearing looks of pity and concern. “But I welcome any matches His Grace would find suitable.” This would be it, it seemed. She would be forced to accept Tywin’s formal proposal in this public setting and there would be no salvation this time. No careful words to avoid an answer. No being called away by a Tyrell in the last second. 

“I have a suitable match,” Cersei said, pride oozing from every syllable. 

Tommen nodded at his mother despite Margaery frowning. “I shall hear it.” 

Cersei opened her smirking mouth and-

The door to the throne room burst open and a flood of orange and red and yellow quickly ran in, led by a panting Daemon-he must have dashed away right after delivering her to the Hall. Her heart seemed to want to crack through her chest when she spotted in Oberyn at the center of the Dornish crowd. He was dressed in his finery, a golden-red robe over a white tunic that sparkled with silver thread in the light. His sword was sheathed and slung at his waist with shining black leather. He looked every part the rogue prince of her childhood fairytales. He walked forward as the rest of his retinue bled into the crowd and she quickly looked forward once again.

“Prince Oberyn, good morning,” Tommen said, confusion coloring his tone. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Oberyn greeted, barely dipping his head in a bow. “It seems I have lost my invitation to the festivities.” 

Both Tywin and Cersei straightened in their seats. It was Cersei who spoke first. “Hardly festivities, Prince Oberyn. Lady Tully was answering for her family’s crimes. If she is to truly be an ally-”

“She must take a suitable husband?” Oberyn finished with a smirk. “Such a strange way to show loyalty.” 

“Your family would know that the best way to make allies is through marriage,” Tywin said. 

Oberyn chuckled and slid closer. She could almost feel his familiar heat at her back but Y/N did not turn to face him. “Yes. I know my family’s storied history. We are proud. There is nothing in our past we are ashamed of. No deeds we leave to whispers.” Another step closer. “No secret rape and murders of women and children. No, in Dorne, that is considered distasteful.” 

Y/N knew exactly to what he was referring. And only Oberyn would be so bold as to accuse the Lannisters of ordering the murder of Elia and her children in front of such an audience. Her eyes flickered to Ser Gregor standing in the shadows. He smirked as if proud to be reminded of his own brutality.

“What is your point?” Tywin asked, attempting to sound bored—but the edge of his tone betrayed him. 

Y/N sucked in a steadying breath as she felt Oberyn’s fingers trail across her back as he stepped forward to look directly at Tywin and she shivered, immediately hating herself for how her body betrayed her. He reached into his robes and there was a sudden clatter of armor—Kingsguard and Westerland knights alike both readied for a fight against the famed Red Viper of Dorne. Oberyn chuckled again and pulled out a single slip of parchment. “You see, Your Grace, in Dorne betrothals are festivities. Not interrogations. Certainly not made by the end of a sword. And Lady Tully is already claimed.” 

Y/N felt her face crumple into a frown. She had never been promised to anyone. Hoster had never asked her to meet with any lords. Her father had never written her with word of an arrangement-

Cersei waved her hand and a Kingsguard snatched the parchment from him with a sneer and quickly handed it over to the queen regent. She unfurled it with a flourish and Y/N watched the color quickly drain from her face. “This is ridiculous.” 

“What is it?” Tommen asked, reaching for the letter. He took it from his mother’s hands and read it. His sweet face furrowed for a moment before he let Margaery read it, too. 

Was everyone to read it before her? But the small smile Margaery let play on her lips was a small comfort. At least, Y/N prayed it was. 

Tywin was then handed the parchment and his thin lips pulled tight against his teeth. “ _You_ are her betrothed, Prince Oberyn?” 

It felt like she’d been hit in the chest with a war hammer. Seven hells! What was happening? 

“I am. What you have in your hands is an agreement between Prince Doran and Lord Brynden Tully.” 

“Brynden Tully is a traitor to the Crown-”

“But, surely, my brother is not. He is currently housing Princess Myrcella. You would not leave your only daughter in the hands of a traitor.” 

Cersei’s hands curled over the arms of her chair and her nails bit into the wood. “I would not.” 

“Obviously, this was arranged prior to Lord Brynden’s turn. But my brother’s word holds true. Y/N is mine.” 

“Did you know of this?” Tywin asked, turning to pin Y/N with his stare. 

“N-no, my lord. I have never heard of this before this morning.” How simple she must look, claiming to not know she was betrothed. Was any of what Oberyn had said true? Had Doran and her father truly come to this arrangement prior to the War of the Five Kings? Or was this another one of his games? 

“Curious, is it not, that you’ve just produced this agreement? Why have you not come forward sooner?” Tywin asked Oberyn, eyes not leaving Y/N’s face.

Oberyn smiled as if he wasn’t aware of the anger he was conjuring in the old lion. “I wanted to woo my wife before letting her know we were to be married.” 

“Romantic,” Margaery cooed. 

“I would have wooed you,” Tommen said to his queen, cheeks pink. 

“I know, my love,” Margaery replied. “But now you do not have to.” 

Cersei scoffed at the new queen’s breathy tone before she, too, focused on Y/N. “What good would this marriage bring?” Cersei asked. “What could possibly be gained?” 

“Happiness,” Oberyn answered easily. “My family has known tragedy and my brother and Lord Brynden knew that.”

Y/N turned to look at him. He smiled so easily at her that her chest ached. He was so handsome—even when she knew him to be lying. 

“You said it yourself. Marriage helps create alliances. Solidify them. Lady Tully’s hand in marriage was a hope of keeping Dorne, my family, from supporting the dragons or leaving the Seven Kingdoms entirely.” 

Hurried whispers ripped through the congregated mass at the sound of Oberyn’s almost-threats. 

“And this girl,” Tywin spat, “would keep Dorne appeased?” His cold eyes raked over her. “More than your vengeance?” 

Oberyn’s smile widened. “Why should I not have both?” 

Tommen, surprising almost everyone present, turned to Y/N before either man could continue their verbal volley. “Lady Tully, what say you?” 

Y/N tried to steel herself and focus on the young king. His gentle face was so soft and kind and so ready for her true answer, it steadied her thundering heart. Could she truly see a way out from under Tywin Lannister’s gaze and intentions? But what of Oberyn? His intentions were not clear. “Your Grace, I live to better the Realm. If my marriage to Prince Oberyn may help bring peace, I happily accept this arrangement.” 

“You realize, Lady Tully,” Cersei nearly hissed her name, “that if you become a Princess of Dorne, you cannot be the Lady of Riverrun. You would be forfeiting your home.” 

And that actually struck a chord within her. Riverrun was her home. But the Lannisters had dangled it in front of her like a carrot on a stick and had promised it would be hers—but then turned and twisted, saying she’d be Lady of Casterly Rock, only regaining her home if she produced a son. Two sons. 

Her father had found a home in the Vale, hundreds of leagues away from the red brick of Riverrun. And she was Brynden Tully’s daughter. She would not beggar herself for a life she did not want to appease someone. He did not settle for the Redwyne woman. She would not settle for Casterly Rock. 

“I understand,” Y/N said, her shoulders back. “Let the Freys have it.” The words rung out in the hall. The decision was made. For all the Realms to hear.

Tommen nodded and glanced at Margaery who brought their joined hands to her mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. He took the parchment back from his grandfather and handed it over to Jaime and it was quickly placed back in Oberyn’s hands and tucked away again. “Very well. Lady Tully, Prince Oberyn, I see no reason as to stand in your way. May the Seven bless your union.”

There was a sudden cheer from the back of the Hall and Y/N turned to see the Dornish clapping and hollering for their Prince. Oberyn turned to her and held out a hand. His smile was so large and happy that she could not stop her own, even if it didn’t feel right. She placed her hand in his and he dragged her close before holding their clasped hands into the air. The happy cheers only grew louder. Y/N glanced to the side to see Olenna Tyrell looking at her, a finger over her smiling lips. She nodded and then clapped, too, and the assorted Tyrell retinue at her back joined in. 

The cheers echoed in the hall and in her chest, reverberating against her beating heart. And she wanted to cheer with them, to scream to the heavens in thanks that she would not be chained to Tywin Lannister. But, as Y/N looked at Oberyn and his proud smile, she was not entirely sure she had not traded one life of shackles for another. And she knew she would be shackled. No matter how freeing life in Dorne may be, she would be shackled with her feelings for him. Shackled to feel something that was not reciprocated.

Their hands eventually lowered and he pulled her closer and led her out of the hall. People congratulated him as they walked by and the morning sun soon started to warm her skin as they stepped outside. He raised their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her fingers as they descended the steps of the Keep. “My bride.” 

“Yes,” she answered, “your bride.” 

His grip suddenly tightened on her hand and he pulled her to a stop with a frown. “My Tully?” 

Y/N glanced at him only for a moment, unable to look into his dark eyes for more than that. “Yes, My Prince?” 

He let out a short breath through his nose and once again pulled her along, down the rest of the steps and then into a small, shadowed corner of the Keep’s walls. “What ails you?” He asked, voice soft.

And maybe it was the heat of the moment, or the high of being free from the Lannisters, or the emotional exhaustion she’d been feeling for the past week, but it bubbled over as she pulled her hand from his and quickly crossed her arms over her chest. “You have left me alone for two weeks. No word as to why. I thought you’d finished with me. Had your pleasures and made a fool of me with your pretty words and then left me to the lions.” She took care to keep her voice low so as to not let any passersby hear. “And now I do not truly know if you are doing this in some way to steal what Tywin Lannister thought was his property or a pittance.” Her chin wobbled—strange, she thought she had drained herself of tears.

Oberyn stepped back as if she’d pushed him. “That is what you think of me? That I have used you for gain against Tywin Lannister?” 

“You spoke so sweetly and then refused to meet my eye. I felt like an idiot to not have seen it. How else am I to perceive this?” 

Oberyn stepped near again and raised his hands as if to grasp her face but she recoiled and his hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists. “I have always been clear in my intentions since the beginning, My Tully.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hands again and gently took her face into his grasp. His dark eyes bored into hers with such intensity that she shivered, thinking they could see her soul. “I have always wanted you. I will want you until this world goes grey and the waters rise to wipe the earth clean.” 

“But you-”

“I never meant to cause you heartache, My Tully. There are plots at work that I could not trouble you with—I would not put you in danger.” His smile was small and sad but he did not pull away from her. “I feared they would somehow break you and spoil everything.” 

Y/N felt her face twisting in anger before she could stop it. She was tired, confused, and angry. Insulted. She pushed his hands away and once again folded her arms across her chest, ignoring how her sleeves brushed against his robes, how she could feel the heat of his skin. “Prince Oberyn, it was _me_ who planned to save Sansa. It was _me_ who knew to send her to Dorne. It was _me_ who knew how to lie and plot and twist words to survive in this wretched city. And now you think to tell me that I cannot be told of your plan? If you do not trust me, simply say so. I can learn to live with that. But, I beg you, do not think of me as something easily broken.” The words sounded like a lie on her tongue. He had broken a little bit of her when he had left her in the dark. Whatever plan he had made, plot he had conjured, he hadn’t deemed her worthy of knowing. And that was what hurt the most. She sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “I shall be our wife. I will do my duties as a wife—but I will not force you to-to try to love me but I ask that you, at least, respect me enough-”

Oberyn grasped her arms and tugged her close. Berry-sweetened breath slid across her skin and hazed her mind. “No one can force me to do anything. If I did not want you as my wife, I simply would have smuggled you out of King’s Landing at nightfall and let you be, far away from the Lannisters who would use you for your name and what is between your legs. But I want you as my wife for my own reasons; your soft heart and fierce devotion to those you deem worthy of your affection. And I will have you.” 

Y/N found herself twisting handfuls of his robe, not knowing when she had reached out, her fingers betraying her in the need to touch him.

“The gods could not take you from me.” He leaned ever closer. “But I shall win your heart again.” Oberyn said it so fiercely that she was almost scared. He hadn’t shouted. Hadn’t yelled. His voice was a calm, intense whisper that she felt it in her bones. But her heartache and anger warred with her want of him and kept her quiet as he leaned into her and pressed a kiss to her throat, his facial hair scratching at her skin. Her traitorous heart leapt and sped its beat as he sighed against her throat. “You shall be my equal in every way. A Princess of Dorne.” 

And she liked the sound of that. She did. But her heart still ached and burned and raged. Her hands that had found purchase in his robes gently pushed him back. “More pretty words.” Y/N curtseyed and ignored how his hands curled into fists again and walked around him and back into the Keep.

**

“My lady, Ellaria is here,” Daisy said as Y/N continued to collect her small trinkets from her vanity and place them into one of the open chests. The rest of her clothing and valuables were already folded and stacked, ready to be taken to the Dornish caravan in the next morning. The only items left unpacked were a dress that she would wear tomorrow and one of her smaller blades which she’d kept under her pillow, unwilling to pack it all away just yet. It was small, the sharp edge no larger than her palm, and the handle was inlaid with black and red gems and topped with a small silver trout. It had been a gift from her father for her ten-and-five nameday. (A silly gift that had Hoster scrunching his face in anger before he gave her a dress from the finest seamstress in the Riverlands.)

Today would be her last full day in King’s Landing before she left for Sunspear with the rest of the Dornish retinue at first light. 

Y/N sighed and nodded. “Let her in.” She placed her last bottle of ink on a roll of leather before folding it and placing it beside her rolls of parchment and shutting the lid of the small chest. The remaining gold dragons inside jostled. 

Daisy nodded and pulled the door open and Ellaria stepped in. Her daffodil-colored dress dipped so low in the front it left her belly button exposed to the air and her dark hair was twisted back with a golden pin shaped like a spear. A scarf of orange gossamer stitched with golden suns was draped over her shoulders. Y/N hated how her heart leapt when she looked at her. Still so lovely. Perhaps this would be easier if she had been hideous. But no, Y/N knew she had come to revel in Ellaria’s words and gentle heart—not just her beautiful face and body. 

Daisy busied herself with continuing to pack away Y/N’s things as Ellaria closed the distance between them. She wordlessly reached out to Y/N and they sat on the edge of her featherbed. “You have a quiet sort of anger in your heart, My Tully.” 

Y/N didn’t say anything but did not pull her hands from Ellaria’s hold. 

“Oberyn only meant to shield you from-”

“He shouldn’t need to shield me from anything.” Y/N sighed. Her anger had settled into her bones. Ever present, but not on the surface. “And you knew, too. Of course you knew. The Prince trusts you implicitly.” 

“There are greater things at work here, My Tully.” 

“And I am just a pawn, I understand that. I do. But I would like to know what game I am playing.” 

Ellaria chuckled. “You are going to make a fine Princess of Dorne.” She released her hands before trailing a finger down her neck and delighting in the shiver it coaxed out. “We will not apologize for trying to protect you. But we will do all can to have your heart in our grasp, again, just as you have ours.” Ellaria’s fingers slid down to her chest, pressing over her heart and smiling as she felt it beat. Then, she reached up to hook her finger around Y/N’s chin and turned her head and let her breath slide across her skin before she slowly, carefully, continued forward and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s lips. It was chaste and soft and still had Y/N’s poor heart leaping. And with the way Ellaria smiled against her mouth, she had felt it, too. 

“That’s not fair,” Y/N mumbled. “You can’t kiss me like that.”

Ellaria pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek with a growing smile. “I don’t fight fair,” she whispered against her skin, uncaring of Daisy still going about her duties on the other side of the room. “I will do whatever is necessary to see you smile again.” She then stole yet another kiss against her cheek before she stood. She made her way to the door but stopped and turned back to look at Y/N as she sat on the bed, unmoving. “I will not rend any more tears from you, My Tully.” Her smile was soft and Y/N had to look away in fear she’d lose her resolve. 

She wanted to forgive them. Let them gather her close and bask in their attentions again. But they’d hurt her, distrusted her—and she was still not completely sure that this was not a game for them. 

The door clicked closed as Ellaria let herself out and Daisy, who had been folding the same dress over and over again in an attempt to look busy, quickly turned to her lady. “She’s quite a confusing one, isn’t she?” 

Y/N sighed and waved Daisy over. Her handmaiden took her seat and Y/N basically collapsed into her hold as she put her head in Daisy’s lap. There were no tears. Not anymore. Just a hollow kind of ache that she could feel all the way down to her toes. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” 

Daisy hummed her ascent. “I’ve put all my pretty things in a chest and Ser Daemon took it down for me this morning.” 

Y/N chuckled. “Ah yes, Ser Daemon. Your dashing knight.” But it was still happy news that Daisy had jumped at the invitation to come to Dorne. Not that Y/N would ever leave her alone in King’s Landing. 

“He isn’t my dashing _anything_ , My Lady.” But Y/N could basically hear the blush and smile in Daisy's voice. “He is simply…” 

“ _Simply_ ,” Y/N played along, “who makes you smile? Warms your bed?” 

“My lady!” 

Y/N turned and looked up at Daisy with a small smile. “He makes you happy. It is not a sin to admit that. Happiness is…precious. Revel in it. Your heart has had its fill of grief.”

“You’re allowed to be happy, too, my lady.” Daisy started to rub at her shoulder softly. “Do not deprive yourself of it.” 

Y/N sighed but said nothing, head turning so she could look at the single rose that had arrived this morning, delivered by smiling Daemon. A poem had had been attached to it, just a handful of lines in smudged ink. It was beautiful, she supposed. Filled with words comparing her skin to petals. 

More pretty words. 

“I think you might be the only friend I have in the world, Daisy.” 

“And I will be here beside you until you tire of me.” 

“I could never tire of you.” 

The pair sat there for a few stretched moments. It was the calmest Y/N had felt in weeks. A new chapter in her life was dawning. Dorne waited. It was not the story she had wanted or expected. But it was the one the gods deemed necessary. She would see Sansa again—that was a silver lining. And then, after she had her new title of Princess of Dorne, perhaps she could lead some sort of inquest into finding Arya. She could keep her mind busy and heart focused on family. 

Maybe, if the gods willed it, she would take Cersei’s advice to heart. She would only love her children. 

Would they have her hair? Oberyn’s dark eyes? His wit? Her inability to know when she’s been beaten? In a perfect world, her children would know nothing of her conflict or heartbreak. They would only know love. 

A knock at her chamber door broke her reverie and Daisy squeezed her shoulder before answering it. Ella, the Tyrell girl, was on the other side and flanked by two handmaidens. “Queen Margaery has requested that you sup with her and Lady Olenna before you leave for Sunspear, Lady Tully. If you are agreeable.” Ella smiled. 

Y/N rose and righted her skirts before nodding. “I’d be happy to.” She turned to Daisy. “Take the rest of the night to ready yourself for tomorrow. I’m sure I will need you every step of the way.” 

Daisy nodded and excused herself, slipping by Daemon at the door with a smile that had the Tyrell handmaidens tittering. 

“Please,” Y/N said to Ella, “lead the way.”

Margaery and Olenna were waiting at a large table in the main room, filled with berries and roasted carrots, wine, chicken smothered in gravy, and lemon cakes piled so high she thought they might collapse if she breathed near them. The meal shared was pleasant and, for once, not filled with plots or schemes or double meanings. Simply food shared between friends, if that is what they could be called. Eventually, they finished and Margaery drew Y/N into a hug. “You have been very good to my family, Lady Tully. I will not forget it.” 

Y/N smiled, knowing that was a powerful promise. “Yes, well, I am always at your disposal, Your Grace.” She curtseyed and then turned to Olenna. “You as well, Lady Olenna. I wish you safe and swift travels back to Highgarden.” 

Olenna stepped to her side and gently touched Y/N’s face. “You are going to be just fine, Little Fish. I promise you.”

Eventually, Ella and another handmaiden led Y/N back to her chambers and she bid them goodnight. It was getting late. She poked her head out of the door to look at her guards—Daemon and his usual comrade had been switched with another pair she did not recognize for the night. (There was a sneaking suspicion that Daemon kept volunteering to be Y/N’s guard to be nearer to Daisy as his was the only face she recognized.) “Sers, may I send for something for you to drink? Eat? I apologize that you have the final guard before the return to Dorne.” 

Both of them shook their heads. “It is an honor to protect you, Lady Tully.” 

Y/N sighed but pressed a smile to her face and thanked them both before closing the door and readying herself for bed. Her gut churned and she knew it wasn’t from the food. Before long travels, her nerves were always tightly wound. Ever since she was a little girl and was told she was being sent from the Vale to Riverrun, it felt like she swallowed a mouthful of pebbles, and the feeling returned every time she knew she would be on the road for longer than a handful of hours. The fact that she was to be married when this trip was completed was surely adding to her jumbled mess of emotions. She sat at her small vanity and dipped a cloth into the basin of water and dragged it across her cheeks and neck, removing the dust of the day.

The sound of scraping metal echoed in the hall. 

Y/N stood and felt her heart leap into her throat. That terrible sound. She knew it too well. 

She turned and slipped her hand under her pillow to curl around the small dagger. She crept toward the door and pressed her ear to the wood. The metal sound came again. Closer this time. Then again. 

And again. 

“Move aside.” Gregor’s voice was cold. 

Y/N heard her guards unsheathe their swords. “No.” 

There was a sudden metallic clash on the other side of the door—loud and jarring. She imagined swords clashing—only for a moment—before she heard the unmistakable gurgle of a man choking on his own blood. The bloodied end of a greatsword was thrust through the meat of the door and nearly had her toppling to the floor, clutching a bloody cheek. Blood dripped onto her dress from the sword in uneven drops. 

She knew what was coming and tried to ready herself, calm herself for the coming storm. Hurried breaths slowed to careful pulls of air and curled fists relaxed as she hid her blade away in the hidden pocket of her long, bell sleeve.

The sword was wrenched back and the door thrust open and there stood Gregor Clegane, framed by the low light of the torches in the hall. He looked like a demon as she stared up at him, sneering and covered in blood. The bodies of her nameless guards were at his feet, both nearly hacked in two. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, Tully.” His voice was low and sounded like gravel had imbedded itself in his throat. Gregor had left only his greaves and sabatons of his armor on and his sweat-stained tunic hung loosely about his barreled-chest—and even in her panicked mind, she knew she’d never see him more vulnerable. “You’re all mine now. Mine. Your pretty prince won’t want you anymore after I’ve had you. I’ll put a bastard in your belly.” 

Y/N knew she needed to be smart. Knew she’d never be able to overpower him or beat him back. And he had just made it abundantly clear what his goal was. His meaty hands grabbed at her arms and hauled her close, his putrid breath nearly making her wretch. 

“Not going to scream for me?” He asked with a jeer.

“No. That Dornish Prince is a vile snake. I will bear him no children. I would rather have a bastard of yours than a trueborn brat of his.” It felt like wildfire had been poured down her throat. And she just hoped it was what he wanted to hear as she tilted her head up like a woman of her status. “Let him know who took me first, Ser Gregor.” 

His tongue hung out of his mouth and he licked his chops like a slobbering dog before he bent and licked a stripe up her neck. “All of the Seven Kingdoms will know.” He picked her up as if she weight no more than a babe and threw her onto her featherbed and quickly climbed over her, thighs as large as tree trunks bracketing her own. “I’ve always liked virgins. I like how they bleed.” 

He bit at her shoulder and she suppressed a shudder and the bile she felt rising in her throat. She just needed him a little more relaxed. 

“Will you bleed for me?” 

His paw of a hand grasped at her breasts and pressed them down into her ribs and she bit at her lips to keep the scream at bay. Instead, she pushed out a soft moan and threw her arms around his neck. 

“You’re already moaning like a whore.” He laughed. It sounded unnatural. “All you highborn ladies always moan. Except for that bitch Elia when I stuffed her full.” Calloused hands started to pull at her skirts as he continued to bite at her skin. He reached down to wrench her legs apart and move between them. “But she screamed so pretty when I grabbed her head and squeezed.” 

Y/N’s heart clenched. He had admitted to murdering Elia Martell. All the rumors of how the princess’ final moments transpired had been for naught—a messy cover up. 

His hips started to rut against hers and another wave of nausea rolled her stomach when she felt the press of his prick against her thighs. She delved into her sleeve and curled her fingers around the hilt of her dagger and braced. Just as he reached her underclothes, she sank the entire blade into the side of his throat and then yanked it forward, splitting open his neck. Warm crimson sprayed over her in a wave and soaked her through. “Bleed for me,” she said and his blood filled her mouth.

Gregor’s mouth opened and closed, spitting more blood onto her face. Even as his life flowed freely and quickly from the unstoppable wound, he reared back and smacked her across the face. Black dots spotted her vision instantly as a ringing muffled her ears. He moved to hit her again and Y/N rolled out from under him and off the bed. Her knees smacked against the stone floor and she scrambled to her feet and turned to see The Mountain pressing his hands to his throat, face twisted in a pale rage. He took a step toward her…then another. 

Then collapsed. 

Unmoving. 

The door to her chambers burst open and she spun and held her dagger out, prepared to fight again.

“My Tully!” Oberyn was holding a spear out and ready but it quickly hung slack as his dark eyes took her in. Soaked in blood from the top of her head to edge of her skirts and with her cut cheek already swelling from The Mountain’s slap, she looked like she had clawed her way out of each of the Seven Hells. More Dornish guards and knights, Daemon included, followed their prince into her chambers. Swords brandished and shields at the ready. 

Her grip on her dagger started to shake and it fell from her grasp, throwing small droplets of blood across the stone. 

Daemon and another knight sheathed their swords and pushed over the body of Gregor, showing his face. “She’s killed The Mountain,” one of them whispered. 

Oberyn dropped his spear and took a step closer to her and reached out slowly, keeping her shaking hands steady. His dark eyes searched hers, uncaring of the blood that caked her. “Breathe, My Tully. Breathe.” Carefully, he pulled one of her hands to his chest and took a breath. “Feel my heart. Breathe with me.” And his heart was a steady thrum under his warm skin and Y/N felt the tension leach from her shoulders even as her fingers continued to shake, smearing his skin with crimson. “There we go, My Tully. Breathe. It is over.” 

Y/N nodded. The air tasted wrong as she pulled in a steadying breath. It took her a moment to realize that she was still tasting blood—hers or Gregor’s, she did not know. “He admitted it, my prince. He admitted to killing Princess Elia.” 

Oberyn’s face dropped. “You heard him?” 

She nodded and felt her lip tremble. “He-he came in and he…” 

The prince wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. “You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Not to me,” he whispered in her ear. 

“But I do. I do have to tell you. I had to pretend to want it, to want him.” 

“Did he touch you?” Oberyn’s voice was ice and she burrowed closer to his chest. 

“He tried. I opened his throat before he could.” 

His grip tightened over her and she shut her eyes as she noticed the room continuing to fill with more people—more guards, more knights, the Kingsguard were filing in. All of them were talking about how The Mountain was dead, how she was covered in blood, how there were two dead Dornishmen at the door. All of it was swirling together into a terrible scream in her ears. She wanted to disappear into Oberyn’s hold. “You gave me something I have yearned and ached for.” Oberyn said quietly, barely heard over the din of the conversation around them.

Y/N’s brow pinched as she looked up at him. “My prince, I have given you nothing-”

“Revenge, My Tully. You have killed the man who killed my dear sister, Elia, and her children. You had him confess it.” His smile was small but still tugged at her heart. “But I am sorry it came at such a cost to you. You do not deserve such brutality.”

Y/N managed to smile despite the throbbing pain that she just noticed stemming from her injured cheek. “I am glad I was able to ease your heart’s burden, my prince.” Her words were true despite the anger she still felt.

Oberyn did not release his hold. “No one will ever touch you again. Not while there is air in my lungs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know what you think! Your comments really keep me motivated. :) Thank you for reading. xx


	6. Ruins in Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments on the last chapter. It means the world to me. I hope you continue to like this story. Things get...um...a little more physical in this chapter. It only took almost 40k words, right? jfc

Whispers followed her through King’s Landing. Eyes watched her every step. 

“She killed The Mountain!” 

“Her? Surely not. Prince Oberyn more like.” 

“No! Truly!” 

Y/N tilted her head back to catch the sun for a moment as Daisy kept a firm lock about her arm. She hadn’t slept. Ellaria had come rushing in with Daisy as Oberyn held her and they quickly sent most of the others back out into the hall. Ellaria pressed a kiss to her blood-stained lips without care and with tears in her eyes. None of them had parted from her side for the rest of the night, even when Cersei and Tywin had come in. The pair surveyed the carnage with a muted sort of surprise before Cersei asked, “ _how do we know that you did not invite him into your bed?_ ” 

And, for once, she didn’t have an answer.

Oberyn held her close as he made it clear that he knew the halls had been emptied to give Gregor few obstacles to get to her door. Daemon had come to give food to the guards at her door and had noticed the eerily empty hall near her chamber and had gone to fetch the prince at once. “ _But which one of you gave the order for them to leave? For Gregor to touch my betrothed?_ ” Before he received an answer, Tommen and Margaery appeared, followed by a wash with morbidly curious nobles from The Reach. Both king and queen quickly apologized to Y/N for “the incident” and promised her anything she wanted. And, with the assembled audience, there was little that could be said without revealing motives. 

Y/N asked for Gregor’s head and watched as both Tywin and Cersei twisted their mouths into poorly hidden and matching grimaces. 

Daemon cleaved the man’s head off right there in her chambers and then shoved it in a box to be taken to Dorne.

The rest of the night was filled with Ellaria and Daisy carefully washing the blood from her skin as Oberyn watched, mouth pulled into a firm line as he stood with his back to the door. A quiet sentry. 

There was no sleep to be had that night. 

Daisy helped her into the wheelhouse as it arrived in front of the Red Keep’s steps and then settled in beside her. As soon as the door was closed, the wheelhouse lurched forward. She did not lean out toward the window to catch a final glimpse at the fortress. She did not try to remember how it smelled as the gates to the city opened and they were let through. She did not want any memories from that horrid place. But her attention was soon drawn to Daisy as she held out a small canteen. 

“Prince Oberyn sent this for you, my lady. So you may sleep while we travel.” Her lips twisted to the side. “And for the pain.” 

Y/N resisted the urge to touch her swollen cheek. The cut that bisected her cheek had been deeper than she had originally thought and would likely leave yet another scar. She took the canteen and uncorked it before taking a large gulp of its contents. It tasted like dreamwine sweetened heavily with honey—she took several more gulps before pushing the cork back in and handing it back to Daisy. “Where is he, by the way? And Ellaria?” He and Ellaria had both been called away as Y/N had readied for the day. Y/N had been too tired to ask where they were going.

“I believe he is only a few paces ahead of our wheelhouse, my lady. And Ellaria is traveling with her father in his.” Daisy pulled something else from the small satchel at her side and handed it to her. It was two rolls of parchment. “They both insisted you read these, to help you sleep.” 

Y/N frowned but took the offered rolls and unfurled the first. It was the letter of arrangement between Prince Doran and her father. It spoke of a modest dowry and the promise of her new title and the life she would lead in Dorne. She frowned as she noticed the color of her father’s signature. It was in a pretty green-blue that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. In all her years, he had only ever used black ink in his missives. Uncle Hoster, on the other hand, had loved a shade of ink very similar to the one on the parchment. He had the ink specially made and always requested that the finest pearls be crushed into the ink to make it shimmer. Her finger brushed against his signature as her mind, starting to fog with the dreamwine, rolled over a sneaking suspicion.

Had Oberyn gone to Riverrun? 

Either way, the next roll nearly had her crying the instant she unfurled it. It was a letter to her, in her father’s familiar tilted handwriting in the same green-blue ink. 

_My darling girl-  
I am so sorry I am not there to give you this news in person. It has been too long since I have looked upon your face. When this war is over and won, I shall hold you tight. I promise you that. But you, my daughter, know I must finish what has started. Little Robb must be king. Your cousin Catelyn died saving him at the Twins, taking the blade and arrow meant for him. I cannot rest until my family is whole again.  
Your betrothed is a good man. My largest sorrow in this world is that I will not be there to remove the maiden’s cloak from your shoulders and see you wrapped in his colors. I asked him to give you this letter before we parted—he is a valiant warrior, if not a little hotheaded. But he speaks about you as if he has known you all his life. You have much of your mother in you, I know that. She weaved the same spell over me as you have done with him. And his paramour, it would seem, too. As long as you are happy, my darling girl, I am as well. All I have ever wanted was your happiness. Damn the rest. But, if the prince is to ever make you unhappy, I shall spirit you away at once. No man would stop me. Just send a raven and I will run to you. I should have seen you grow into the woman you are now. My mistakes will haunt me for the rest of my days even though your gentle heart has forgiven me.  
Just know I love you. _

Y/N pressed the parchment to her chest and sobbed. It crinkled under her grip as tears streaked down her cheeks and soaked the neck of her dress. 

Daisy quickly leapt to her side of the rocking wheelhouse and instantly devolved into trying to discern what had upset her so. Y/N could only hand over the letter through hiccups. Daisy quickly read it and then pulled Y/N into her arms as she was so fond of doing and let her weep. But soon, the dreamwine and exhaustion pulled at her eyes and she fell asleep in the quiet hold of her handmaiden.

**

It was midday when she woke and the wheelhouse had grown warm. Y/N blearily opened her eyes and expected to see that she was on Daisy’s lap—but instead found her head resting on a pair of sturdy legs covered in soft linen trousers. Across the wheelhouse, Ellaria was reading a book in her lap with her legs crossed under her on the cushion. Y/N turned and saw Oberyn looking out the wheelhouse window as his fingers idly trailed against the stitching of her dress.

“My love,” Ellaria said, “she’s awake.” 

Oberyn looked down at her with a soft smile. His hand settled on her uninjured cheek and his thumb swept across her skin. “Or are you still dreaming, My Tully?” 

“This feels like a dream.” She leaned a little closer to his hold. “Where is Daisy?” 

“She is riding with Ser Daemon,” Ellaria answered with a mischievous glint in her eye as she set her book aside. “They are quite the match.” 

“They are,” Y/N said as she sat up, despite Oberyn huffing when she did so. “I would see them happy.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes, only partly mindful of her injured cheek and glanced outside. “We must be halfway to the Stormlands by now, no?” 

“We are. We should make it to Summerhall by nightfall.” 

Y/N nodded and kept her eyes on the passing greenery. Her mind was still fuzzy from the dreamwine and long nap. “Thank you for giving me the letters.” 

“Your father was insistent.” 

“But how did you get them?” 

Oberyn shared a look with Ellaria before he sighed. “I rode to Riverrun.” 

Her head snapped to the side so quickly she felt something pinch in her neck. “What?”

“I rode to Riverrun,” he repeated. “There had been whispers of your father being seen at Oldstones and then Fairmarket, the Whispering Wood—a small band of men at his side. It did not take long to find him.” 

Her mouth had gone dry. Questions bubbled and turned over in her mind. 

“The Freys’ defenses were easily outmaneuvered and I did what he needed of me so he could take back your home.” 

“But…but why…” Why had he gone? Why had he helped her father? 

Oberyn reached out and gently grasped one of her hands and raised it to press a kiss against her palm. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” His smirk made her huff out a laugh as he continued, “the Realm needs allies—strong allies. Your Father in Riverrun. Starks in the North. The Reach. Dorne.” 

Ellaria moved to sit beside her and held her other hand. 

“I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. All of it seemed so convoluted and she was sure she only had half the pieces to this puzzle. But there was a voice at the back of her mind telling her that he did it for her. And why did that make her heart speed its beat like a dragonfly’s wing? 

“We are in the long game now, My Tully. We will be rid of the Lannisters and the Realm will have peace.” 

Ellaria squeezed her hand. “We did not want to involve you until we were certain that your father was alive. We could not be the ones to give you the news that he had perished. Breaking your heart…” Her smile was sad. “We couldn’t bear it.” 

“But we did anyway when we kept it from you.”

And now, Y/N was seated between them, each holding one of her hands and gazes filled with sorrow and warmth. For her. For each other. “Tell me of this plan you have of to rid the Realm of its Lannister stain.” 

And so they did. Oberyn spoke of alliances across the Realm to outnumber and outwit Tywin Lannister—the man House Martell held responsible for the deaths of Elia and her children. Gregor Clegane may have committed the act, but they knew The Mountain did not move unless Tywin commanded it. Years of bloodshed, war—they were Tywin’s doing. Ellaria spoke of meetings with lords and ladies who felt slighted by the Lannisters or Baratheons. All a carefully crafted plot to turn anyone and everyone against the most powerful man in Westeros. 

“But what of Tommen and Myrcella? They are innocents.” 

“They are,” Ellaria said. 

“They will be allowed to go to Essos with their household and part of their riches—unharmed. But they are never allowed to step foot in Westeros again.” 

It felt cruel to leave gentle Tommen and little Myrcella to a life of exile. But it was kinder than the end Rhaenys and Aegon saw at the hands of Tywin Lannister. And this was war—fought in shadows and in secret, but a war all the same. Y/N nodded. But then a thought struck her, pressing its sharpened blade between her ribs and twisting to open a wound she thought nearly healed. The want to pull away and curl into herself reared its head but she tightened her grip on their hands instead. She just needed truth. “And…I was the key to the Riverlands? Would it not have been simpler just to liberate Edmure from Casterly Rock?” 

Oberyn chuckled as Ellaria smiled. “You were always meant to be ours. War or not, we would have you. But the formality of having an agreement between my brother and your father was a necessity so they could not try to force your hand. I had Doran draw it up before we left for King's Landing--I could forge your father's signature if had come to that. But I made sure that the Dornish forces were ready should the need arise to have to pull you from their clutches,” he said. “They are all waiting at the mouth of the Boneway.”

“And while Oberyn was out cutting down Freys, I was taking tea with Lady Olenna and that new Queen, Margaery to be sure of their alliances.” 

“My Ellaria is a master negotiator,” Oberyn said, pride blooming in his tone but then his dark eyes focused again on Y/N. “And we’d do it all—the fighting, the long, insipid dinners—all of it, again for you.”

“Oh.” The sound warbled in her throat. “Are you sure? Are you certain you still-” 

Ellaria hooked a finger under Y/N’s chin and made her look into her eyes. “Never doubt that. We have kept you in the dark for our own selfish reasons. It will never happen again. You are Our Tully. In this world and into the next: **ours**.” 

Oberyn slid closer to her side, pressing his body against hers. He raised their clasped hands and pressed a kiss to her palm, lips then dragging to her wrist. Teeth scratched against her pulse. She shivered at the contact, lower belly clenching. “Do you still wish to be ours?” 

Y/N felt the answer bubbling in her throat but her eyes dipped down to Ellaria’s pink lips. Soft and supple. She leaned forward slowly and saw the question rise in Ellaria’s beautiful eyes. Did she want this? Was she ready? Tentatively, slowly, she pressed her lips to Ellaria’s. It was a relief to feel Ellaria’s smile press against her mouth and easily let Ellaria assume control and guide her lips to open. The Dornishwoman stole her breath as she licked into her mouth with an effortless ease, coaxing her to follow. 

Y/N let loose her grip on their hands to hold Ellaria closer, fingers curling into the loose fabric of her skirts and sighing against her pretty mouth. Not to be outdone, Oberyn pressed ever closer to lathe kisses against the side of Y/N’s neck. His hands slid across her stomach and the heat of him quickly soaked through the fabric of her dress as his fingers crept up to cup her breasts. A single squeeze had her moaning into Ellaria’s mouth.

She wanted them everywhere, anywhere. Wanted their touch branded on her skin for all the world to see. She wanted to lose herself to their kisses and touches and forget everything outside this small wheelhouse. Wanted to forget that The Mountain had ever touched her. Y/N would rather bathe in his blood a thousand times over than to remember what his hands felt like. 

Her injured cheek suddenly throbbed in pain and she drew back quickly with a wince, fingers pressing to the skin as if the touch would help—only to catch the end of the cut with her nail. “Seven hells,” Y/N hissed. 

“What is it?” Oberyn quickly asked, his mouth leaving her neck at her sudden movement, hands quickly pulling back and then hovering over her like he was ready to stem any hurt she might have. 

“I am afraid we have been too enthusiastic with Our Tully,” Ellaria murmured. She reached out to pull Y/N’s hand away from her cheek with a careful hand. “We never meant to hurt you.” She pressed a kiss to Y/N’s fingers in a quiet apology as Oberyn hummed his assent, his fingers once again finding purchase atop her shoulders to roll soothing circles into her skin.

“It was my fault,” Y/N murmured. “I do want…to have you touch me, to touch you. I simply forgot my injury for a moment.” 

“Your battle wound,” Oberyn said with a smile. “My fierce princess. Slayer of The Mountain.” 

Y/N snorted and then winced as it once again agitated her cheek. “That moniker will never take and you know it.” She sighed and settled a little further into her cushioned seat as Ellaria and Oberyn both looked at her, fondness coloring their features and her chest filled with warmth at the sight. “I want us to be happy. Always. No more secrets kept about my welfare or half-truths. Happiness. That is all I want.” 

“And you shall have it,” Oberyn whispered. “You shall have every happiness.”

**

She had never been to the Stormlands. She had heard of its verdant forests and lowing valleys that crested up to meet the Red Mountains but never truly seen it outside the illustrations in her books. The travelling party settled for the night at the mouth of a valley abutting a small outcropping of evergreens. The ruins of Summerhall were at her back and she wanted so desperately to explore them, touch its crumbling rock. But a handful of others in the party had insisted that she tell them the story of how toppled The Mountain. Even hardened knights had settled near her to listen. But their eyes all carefully dragged across her discolored and scabbed cheek and she fought the urge to hide it beneath her fingers. There was no jokes at her expense. No calling it a stroke of luck. Only careful nods and questions about the blade she used. She readily handed it over for inspection. It seemed that her killing of Gregor had given her an air of blood-filled sanctity in their eyes. She had heard the whispers of the Dornish as they had made camp for the night—they were much kinder than those of King’s Landing.

Her eyes drifted over to see that Oberyn had found their small gathering and leaned against a tree with his mouth lifting into a small smile only when someone asked how she came to use a blade. “Most Northern ladies don’t like it,” he said. 

Y/N’s lips pulled into a small smile of her own, still bemused at how the Dornish thought anything and everyone above Dorne was ‘northern.’ “My father found me playing with one of his blades when I was just a child. He thought it would be wiser for me to know how to use it properly so I wouldn’t hurt myself on accident. When I left for Riverrun, Uncle Hoster always grumbled when Ser Desmond, our master-at-arms, would place a bow in my hands or blade. But he knew I am my father’s daughter.” She laughed a bit. “But he nearly collapsed when Ser Desmond somehow befriended some former Second Son and had him train me in exchange for a bit coin.” 

“A Second Son? What was his name?” Oberyn asked, stepping closer. The gathered crowd murmured at his arrival. Everyone knew of Oberyn’s time with the Second Sons when he was sent to exile for a handful of years when he was younger. Even Y/N had heard the stories. 

She smiled a little more openly as he stepped to her side, warm hand sliding down her spine to settle at the small of her back. “Ser Maegyr. He was quite a rogue and I was sure I was half in love with him until he was caught stealing from our storehouses.” She chuckled at the memory. “He managed to escape our dungeons the first night and we never saw him again. Did you know him, My Prince?”

“Maegyr?” Oberyn repeated as his thumb rubbed circles into her back. “He was a fine swordsman. But a terrible mercenary. He disappeared one night before he was to report to a commander about his battalions’ dealings with a Volantene merchant. I am surprised he made it this far west.” 

Y/N looked at him in the dying light of the day and felt her heart pleasantly tighten in her chest. She should ask him more about his time in Essos, about what he had seen. She was sure he could never cease to ply her with his tales of blood and glory and she would never cease to wonder at them, at him. 

“She is a fine lady, my prince,” a man draped in the colors of House Manwoody said. “The Seven have smiled on you.” 

Oberyn pulled the small blade from his hands and looked at. The thumb of his nail picked at the dried blood still caking the sharp edge before he turned his gaze back to Y/N. “Yes. They have.”

Without realizing it, she curled a little closer to him as he held her dagger and felt a strange bit of peace in the depths of her soul, even as her eyes dragged over the blade. But the moment was soon broken by a servant saying that the food had been served for the last meal of the day. Dinner was an assortment of berries and cheeses and wines that sated her hunger and left Y/N feeling comfortably full as the moon rose higher into the dark sky. She met Harmen Uller, Ellaria’s father, an affable man who instantly endeared himself to her by regaling her of tales from Ellaria’s childhood. 

“…and then she leapt from her horse’s back and into the Brimstone,” he finished his story with a chuckle. “The stench of Sulphur stuck to her hair for nearly a moon cycle.” 

Y/N laughed and felt Ellaria’s fingers trail across her thigh before suddenly grasping it in a strong grip. Her knee nearly hit the table out of reflex and had Ellaria laughing quietly into her ear. Oberyn smiled at them from across the table and slid a berry into his mouth. 

“You must see Hellholt, my lady. After the wedding, of course.” Harmen leaned forward to pointedly look at his daughter with a playful sort of anger. “Since it will be the only wedding I will be attending for quite some time, it seems.” 

Ellaria scoffed. “Father, must you always do this?”

Harmen huffed and tried to hide his smile. “My Ellaria told me when she was not but eight that she would never take a husband.” 

“And I still haven’t,” Ellaria said with a matching smile, her fingers starting to massage the meat of Y/N’s thigh and sending small, but pleasurable zings up her spine. “And I am better for it. I now have a prince and a princess to call my own.” Ellaria pressed a kiss just below Y/N’s ear and delighted in the shiver it created. 

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked as she looked to Ellaria. To be truthful, it had been a question whispering at the back of her mind. Did she care that she would be Oberyn’s wife? 

But the easy smile Ellaria gave her was enough. “I have never been one for marriage. It creates shackles I swore to myself I would never let ensnare me. But I am happy to have captured you both.” Another squeeze to her thigh. “Truly.” 

Y/N’s eyes glanced back over to Oberyn to see him fondly watching them as the lord next to him prattled on about something, clearly under the assumption the prince was listening. Warmth bloomed in her chest. With all of the turmoil and heartache and bloodshed she had fought through—this moment right now, with Ellaria’s hand on her thigh and her breath on her neck, and Oberyn’s affectionate gaze, all of it was worth it. This happy moment. 

The meal was finished with more berries and wine and then songs sung by a few of the knights as the moon was fully seated in the night sky. She was pleasantly full and buzzing with Ellaria’s constant touches. Against her thigh, curling against her knee, trailing against her hip. All of it was so pleasant and perfect that she assumed that it would carry over to her dreams. 

Oberyn had erected a tent in the center of the camp for her and Daisy, draped with silks in every shade of red and filled with cushions that nearly swallowed the bed whole. It was a lovely, extravagant way to spend the night and he kissed her soundly as he told her goodnight, curling his fingers at the back of her neck so he could hold her close, keep her still. Ellaria quickly followed suit and reveled in the little gasps she emitted. It left Y/N smiling and a little dazed as Daisy helped her out of her dress and they settled in for the night. 

It was supposed to be perfect. 

But as she started to dream, mind filled with the touch of silk and Oberyn’s lips and Ellaira’s fingers, it all went wrong. 

She woke only a handful of hours later, feeling the phantom fingers of Gregor Clegane. Her dream had been cruel. The dagger to his throat had not stopped him. He bled all over her and took what he wanted before wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until she woke with a gasp.

Daisy was still sleeping peacefully in the small bed on the other side of the tent, unhearing of her panicked breathing or her hammering heart. She rubbed at her throat as if that would ease the invisible ache and tried to steady her pulse to little avail. There would be no sleeping after that. Y/N stood from her bed and pulled her discarded dress back on and tied the laces at the back as best she could before shoving her feet into shoes. 

The camp was largely quiet, most having retired for the night and retreated to their tents or their sleeping rolls under the stars. A handful of knights were in the middle of a drinking game at one of the empty tables and guards were stationed around the perimeter. She pulled a torch from its metal stand and ventured out on her own, feet sinking into the lush grass with each step. If she could not sleep, she could have a bit of adventure. It had been a habit of hers when she was a child. She would wander the halls of her father’s keep at the Bloody Gate or slip out of her chambers at Riverrun to ride her favorite steed bareback along the riverbanks. Tonight, she would see the ruined palace of Summerhall. 

She started up the hill but caught the eye of two knights emerging from the trees. They had been part of the group who had heard her tale against the Mountain. 

“My lady?” One of them started, confusion coloring his tone. 

“I am unable to sleep. Do not worry yourselves. Please rest for the night.” 

The two knights seemed to war with themselves before they each nodded. “As you wish, my lady.” 

And as they continued on back to camp, she trekked forward and soon she was gazing up at the blackened stone of the former palace with a bit of awe distracting her from her nightmare. Quiet steps echoed in the night. She wandered through the half-destroyed halls and let them lead her this way or that as shadows danced alongside. Pieces of stained glass still clung to the frames of a few windows and the bright moonlight glittered in blue and green and red behind them. 

Narrow halls gave way to an opened room and the remnants of a dragon-head mosaic in the stone had her pondering if this was the great hall of this once-beautiful palace. Ivy covered most of the rock and rubble and a mess of small, white flowers had managed to bloom amongst them. The entire west wall was gone and gave her quite the view of the valley below. Y/N set her torch on the ground and settled onto crossed legs. She watched the wind blow through the trees and rattle the branches. She knew of the tragedy that had befallen the Targaryens here. Wildfire had swept through its halls and killed the king, prince, Commander of the Kingsguard, and countless others generations ago. But it had once been a place of luxury, beauty. She wondered if there were ever dances in this hall. If kisses were stolen beneath the stained glass windows. If they ever stopped to look out over the valley like she did now. 

She heard muffled yelling in the distance—probably from the drinking game she’d witnessed earlier. 

It did not matter. 

Y/N turned back to the view and pulled in a few deep breaths as her mind once again drifted to think of her nightmare. It was not the first time she had killed a man—the Riot of King’s Landing had her seeing two men to their graves as they chased her and Sansa through the mud-caked streets, intent on having their fill. Sandor had found them not long after and slew the rest of the hoard of men that pulled at their skirts. He had been gentle with Sansa then, making sure she was all right before pocketing Y/N’s dagger as his own to keep anyone from asking questions. It was then that she knew she could trust him with Sansa’s life and care. 

That had been _two_ and she had felt nothing but relief when she had watched their lifeless bodies fall to the ground. So why did this third seem to shake something innate in her marrow? Was it that she had to pretend to want it? Was it because she had his blood fill her mouth? 

“Y/N!” 

She leapt at the sound of her name being yelled through the night air. Hurrying to her feet, she turned to see Oberyn and Ellaria rushing into the remains of the hall, a torch held in his hand and casting dark shadows against the ivy. Daemon quickly followed. Oberyn’s entire being sagged when he looked at her and Ellaria placed a hand against his chest, as if she were the only thing keeping his heart behind his ribs. 

“What is it?” She asked, feeling the tension. “Has something happened?” 

“You were not in your tent, My Tully,” Ellaria answered. 

“Tell the others that she has been found. Unharmed,” Oberyn said to the knight beside him. Daemon nodded and then slipped back into the blackness of the ruins without a word.

“The night after we almost lose you and I cannot find you in your bed.” Oberyn’s voice wavered the slightest bit. “I had dreams of you… of finding you dead under The Mountain, dead like Elia.” His lips pulled tight against his teeth and the sharp planes of his face looked even harsher in the dancing firelight. 

“I told him to simply look at you while you slept, to rest his heart.” Even Ellaria’s soothing voice twisted in her throat. 

“But you were not there.” 

Y/N grimaced as shame bubbled in her gut. “I did not mean to frighten you. I…had dreams of my own that would not let me sleep.” She sighed. “I would never intentionally cause either of you duress. Walking simply helps me breathe after my mind is cruel at night.” 

Oberyn and Ellaria were quiet for a moment before he set down his torch. He waved her forward and Y/N quickly did as he bid and suppressed a gasp when he grabbed her wrist when she was within his reach and hauled her close. His mouth descended on hers and robbed the air from her lungs as he laid claim to her in a kiss that she was sure would consume her entirely. Of all the kisses she’d ever had, she had never been kissed like this. She had never been kissed by someone who had thought they had lost her forever to the clutches of The Stranger. His tongue licked into her mouth as his hand cradled the back of her head, holding her tight against his heaving chest. Her hands pressed against his chest, robe and tunic left open to the night air and rumpled with disturbed sleep and the ensuing worry. It was only when she whimpered against his mouth, desperate for more but aching for breath, that he pulled away from her. Ellaria followed suit and pressed her lips against her shining mouth and coaxed more whines and moans from her throat. 

She could kiss them forever if her lungs allowed it. 

But Ellaria pulled away, too, before quickly pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Never do that again, My Tully,” she whispered. 

And Y/N could only nod in return.

The three of them collectively sighed. Oberyn turned and nosed beneath Ellaria’s jaw and made her laugh as his teeth scratched against her pulse. “We all need a bit of release to help us sleep.” His hand slipped down and patted Ellaria’s butt as she smiled. “I have an idea.” He fixed his dark gaze on her and Y/N suddenly felt like a trapped lamb. “You will hide.” 

“Here?” Ellaria’s smile started to grow to match Oberyn’s and Y/N’s poor heart hammered in her chest as her foot took an uneasy step back, snapping an old twig under her heel. “In the ruins?”

“You wanted to see the ruins. Now, go. Hide in the shadows.” His smile was more of a display of teeth and had Y/N skittering backward, into the darkened, half-standing halls without her torch. “We will find you!” He called out. It echoed against the rock. 

Y/N quickly dashed away, skirting through the broken halls and around corners until she was so deep in the ruined palace she was sure no one would find her. Her heart thundered. The look in Oberyn’s eyes had been frightening—but it had her thighs clenching now, as she thought of it again. And the promise of him and Ellaria both trying to find her with the promise of something…it sent heat straight through her. She tucked herself into shadows of what seemed to be a bedchamber and listened for any footsteps approaching. If either of them came in, she could escape from the north door or through the hole in the east wall. 

She couldn’t stop the smile she felt forming, even as her heart sped its beat like she was preparing for a fight or race. But then the soft footsteps echoed against the broken stone and she pressed closer to the wall at her back. 

“Y/N,” Oberyn sang and it sent a shiver down her spine. “You know I’ll find you.” 

His footsteps drew closer and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle her panted breaths. 

He sang her name again and through the dark she saw him lean in through the crumbling doorway and swivel his head one way and then the next to try and spot her in the moonlight. Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, wanting to stretch this game out a little longer. But she knew she had been discovered when a familiar smirk split his face. 

“Found you.”

She dashed toward the hole in the wall and leapt through it and into the adjacent room. He readily followed with a laugh. Y/N sped through the room, back out into the hall and slipped into another room before backing into the shadows again, skirts catching on the rubble. 

Oberyn steadfastly followed and once again found her. 

A giggle bubbled in her throat as he sprinted toward her with arms outstretched. But she dodged his hold and tried to slip by him and made it one two three steps before his arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back against his chest as it rumbled with another laugh. Oberyn tucked his face into her neck and she could feel him smiling against her skin. “Can’t run from me, My Tully.” He planted his hands on her hips and turned her around so he could look at her. “You are beautiful in the sunlight but you are celestial in moonlight.” One of his hands gently held her face, mindful of her bruising. 

Y/N slunk away from the compliment. “I think it has played tricks on your eyes, my prince.” 

Oberyn pulled her closer, fingers a little tighter on her hip and grip a little more insistent on her cheek. “I do not lie and my eyes do not deceive me. You are beautiful.” His dark eyes were black in the moonlight. “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“My prince, I-”

“Tell me.” 

“I’m beautiful,” she mumbled.

He hummed and nodded. And they were quiet for a moment as he continued to hold her. “Tell me of your dreams.” 

Her eyes shut and she pulled her face away from his hand to settle her forehead against his collar. “I can almost feel his hands on me as if he were standing here.”

“That is what you dreamed of?” 

Y/N sighed but didn’t answer and closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistle through the stone. 

“Where do you feel him touch you?” His hands hovered over her. “Tell me.” 

She could tell him. She could whisper the places she felt Gregor’s fingers try to rip her apart. But she wanted to feel him—her prince—instead, with a little shame. Without pulling her head from its resting place, she grabbed Oberyn’s hands and placed them over her hips before dragging them up to her breasts for a moment and then having them encircle her throat. And then slowly, she pushed them down to the crux of her thighs as tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. “I feel him everywhere.” 

His fingers never pulled or pushed or prodded. They did not dig into her in search of something. He gently curled his fingers over her hips again and rested his cheek atop her hair. The wind whistled again. 

“Can you touch me?” She turned her face and asked the question into the fabric of his tunic. “I…I want to feel you. Feel your hands instead.” She felt him push out a long breath. 

“Are you sure? Are you certain you want me now?” 

It was only then that she dared look up at him. “ _Please_.” It was barely a whisper. 

His grip on her hips tightened and he pushed her backward until she was pressed against the nearest wall and he loomed over her. The moonlight framed his head and made him look like some dark, avenging god before his mouth claimed hers again. It had all the heat and intensity his other kisses held, but it was slower. Like he was trying to draw it out for as long as possible in long, strong strokes of his tongue against her own. But then his hands started to move, to knead her hips and then sliding up to grasp at her breasts through the fabric of her hastily tied dress. 

A familiar coiling pulled tight in her stomach as her shaking fingers sunk into the sturdy weight of his shoulders. “Oh,” Y/N gasped out as his mouth left hers to press open-mouthed kisses against her jaw and down to her neck. 

“No one will touch you again. I’ll have their hands on spikes before they even dream of touching the edges of your skirts.” He breathed the words against her neck and she shivered despite the warm night air, dampness starting to pool between her legs. “No one is worthy to feel your skin like this.” His nose skirted the edge of her jaw and tipped her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat. “But I shall tempt the gods’ wrath every time you let me.” 

“You are to be my husband. I want no other man’s hands. I will never want another man’s touch,” she breathed out, eyes unfocused as they opened to see him smirk against the top of her breast.

“You are going to be my wife.” His breath came out in a sigh as he kissed her again.

“Yes,” she said, the single word coming out in a gasp against his mouth as she felt his hands start to gather her skirts, pulling them up up up. 

“You are going to be mine. Forever. And mine alone.”

“And Ellaria,” she managed to say as his fingers started to slide up her leg, leaving a burn in their wake before cupping her, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit through the barrier of her small clothes. 

Oberyn chuckled. “Oh yes, she will have you, too. And we will take you apart together.” 

Her breaths were coming out in hot, labored pants even as he nearly devoured her mouth in a kiss. Deft fingers pushed aside her clothes and found her heat. He dug into it slowly, gathering the wetness before pressing against her clit again, circling circling circling. He mouthed at her neck as the first cry broke her lips. 

“Yes, sing for me, My Tully.” 

Her shaking hands wrapped around his wrist as he continued to work at her; to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. “Oh-oh, my prince-” Another moan had her choking on the word, coiling something terrifying and beautiful in her stomach. 

“Say my name.” The words were hot against her neck then trailing down against the tops of her breasts and he lathed his claim there, too, as his fingers continued to swirl. “Say it.” 

“Oberyn.” It was a gasp and nearly scream as he dove inside with a single finger. “ _Oberyn._ ” 

“Again,” he commanded, thumb now pressing against her bud, slowly working a second finger in. 

“Oberyn.” 

She was leaking all over his hand, she was sure of it, but could not find it in herself to be embarrassed. _This_ touch felt good. _This_ touch was wanted. _This_ touch left her heart singing and thighs quaking. 

He bit at her throat as his fingers continued to thrust and he could feel each of her moans as they came, higher and higher and higher until she crumpled. 

She squeezed his fingers with a broken sort of moan still on her tongue but he worked her through it until her knees were shaking and she finally did push his hand away, afraid of another. But, she watched with a thundering heart as he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. And he did it all with a smile on his face as he looked at her. 

When he finally finished, he said, “the moonlight suits you.” 

“Does she taste as good as we had thought?” Ellaria’s question had them both turning to see her leaning against the remains of the doorway, looking smug. Y/N righted her skirts and bodice to distract from her embarrassment. 

“Even better than imagined, my love.” Oberyn held out his hand for her and Ellaria quickly took it but Y/N had one last soft sigh left in her when Ellaria pulled Oberyn’s fingers into her mouth to suck the last bit of her slick from his skin. 

“Next time, I get to taste her first.” Then Ellaria’s hand trailed down to the top of Oberyn’s breeches and palmed the obvious bulge. “But it seems I can still have some fun tonight.”

Oberyn pressed a kiss to her mouth as her fingers unlaced him with a practiced ease. 

Y/N could only watch in a hazed trance as Ellaria sunk to her knees before Oberyn and pulled his cock out before licking a firm stripe up the underside. Her still-slick pussy throbbed at the sight and she curled her hands into fists at her sides in a poor attempt at relief. He was unabashed at letting his moans out into the night air and they echoed like a forgotten, ancient god of desire. Ellaria’s mouth worked in tandem with her hands and soon had him thrusting down her throat with his hands in her dark hair. 

Y/N continued to watch and found herself wanting to know what it felt like, wanting to know what he tasted like, what Ellaria tasted like. 

Oberyn sucked in a quick breath between his teeth and Ellaria crooked at finger at Y/N and the younger woman quickly shuffled to her side and knelt, listening to the wet sounds of his cock moving against her talented tongue. Spit had started to leak out of the side of her mouth but Y/N only found that it made it more beautiful in a strange way, more debauched. Ellaria pulled her mouth off him and continued to stroke him in long, firm tugs. 

“Put your mouth on him,” Ellaria instructed as she moved to the side just slightly. 

“What?” It came out a squeak.

“Hurry. Or you’ll waste it. Watch your teeth,” She quickly added with a smile before licking her lips. 

Y/N moved closer and opened her mouth. Her tongue caught the underside of the head of his cock and Oberyn groaned. Her lips closed around him and she tasted the salty-sweetness of his skin. Mindful of her teeth, she clumsily took him a little further into her mouth and it wasn’t much until she gagged and tears filled her eyes. 

“Aren’t you perfect,” Ellaria cooed into her ear. “Just relax.” 

Oberyn’s hands suddenly found the back of her head and he thrust once, twice, and one more time before he shoved his cock further and spilled down her throat and it left her gagging and gasping and only further increased the ache between her thighs. The taste of it still filled her mouth and she swallowed instinctively, earning a twitch against her tongue before he pulled out from between her spit-slicked lips. She didn’t even notice if her cheek ached from the mess of it all. He quickly helped her and Ellaria both up to their feet and fussed over their knees before kissing them soundly on the lips with a sigh. He tucked himself back into his breeches as Y/N looked at Ellaria. 

“Shouldn’t we…” And now she was at a loss for words. “Wouldn’t you like to…” A vague hand gesture. 

Ellaria, ever astute, knew exactly what Y/N was trying to imply. “Unlike you two heathens, I prefer my pleasures to beds and cushions—and the occasional chair.” 

Oberyn hauled her close. “And we do have a bed waiting for us.” 

“Oh,” Y/N started, a strange sort of courage blooming in her chest. “May I watch?”

**

Sunspear was a gilded fortress of sand-colored stone and gold. It touched the sky with domed towers and glinted like a precious gem in the sunlight. Y/N was sure she had never seen anything so beautiful as they finally spotted it in the distance.

Dorne was a delight to the senses. They had crossed through the Boneway and it seemed the world devolved into a wash of reds and yellows and browns under a crystal blue sky. The air was warm and fresh. (As the Red Mountains flattened into a dry, flat expanse of sand and rock, she was gifted a sight that had her heart roaring. An army, as promised, was camped. Tens of thousands of knights and infantrymen waiting for the command of their prince. An army raised for her.) The traveling party was on the road for nearly two weeks and it had shrunk little by little as lords and ladies and knights returned to their keeps along the way until only the royal party were left. Every night, she dreamt of Oberyn and Ellaria. They consumed her thoughts and dreams, blotting out the specter of the dead Mountain. She no longer felt his touch, only theirs. Her cheek healed and the scar was minimal. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and she knew she would need to speak to a septa to truly soothe her rattled soul, but they had been a balm to her very being. They spoke to her every day and into every night. 

They were her companions, her friends—her lovers, even if she still maintained her virginity. They both insisted that she wait for the bedding after the wedding ceremony but had taken great delight in watching her fall apart on their fingers or teaching her how take Oberyn’s cock down her throat (Y/N’s favorite, truth be told, was just watching Ellaria and Oberyn together). But the twinkling of their eyes and secretive shared glances gave Y/N the thought that they might be planning something. It did not matter. She would let them do whatever they wanted. She trusted them both implicitly. 

And perhaps it was too soon to truly say, but she knew she was falling in love with them—again. 

Oberyn leaned next to her and murmured each part of the fortress, naming the Sandship, the Winding Walls, the Spear Tower, and the Tower of the Sun as he pointed them out over her shoulder. His warmth was a calming touch to her racing heart. Y/N was still nervous. This was still unknown territory. She might have Oberyn and Ellaria in her bed but that did not mean all of Dorne would welcome her. 

As if feeling her turmoil, Oberyn pressed a kiss against her shoulder. “Relax, my moonlight. This is home.” 

She smiled at the new moniker—it had been his name for her since that night at Summerhall and it never ceased to make her heart sing. 

“We have a surprise for you,” Ellaria said as they finally pulled into the gates. 

“You must not spoil me so. I will grow quite vexing, I’m sure.” 

Ellaria chuckled. “Too late. We have decided to spoil you to our heart’s content.” 

The wheelhouse eventually slowed to a stop at the steps leading to the heart of the castle and Oberyn exited first and helped Ellaria and Y/N out with a careful hand. There were serving men and women lined up to unload the wheelhouses and horses and each of them bowed or curtseyed as Y/N was announced. They smiled and Y/N found herself smiling, too. It felt worlds apart from the whispers and plots of King’s Landing. 

“Come,” Ellaria said as she pulled on her hands. “The surprise awaits.” She tugged Y/N up the steps and into the heart of the fortress and Y/N could scarcely see the domed, painted ceilings or marble floors inlaid with gold as Ellaria continued to pull her along until they slowed to a stop in front of a door of white-washed wood and banded with gold. She held up a finger to her mouth and quietly pushed the door open before nudging Y/N into the room. 

“And what happened then?” A child’s voice asked. 

The room was large and open and draped in soft tones of ivory and tan from the silk carpets to the drapes fluttering in the wind at the open balcony doors. But all Y/N could see was the pair sitting on a chair on the balcony. One was the child, a cherubic looking girl with dark hair and matching, laughing eyes and the other was Sansa. A book was perched over the little girl’s lap as she sat on Sansa’s legs. 

“The knight grasped his sword and slew the bear!” Sansa read and pointed to the illustrated page. 

“He did?” 

“He did!” 

The girl giggled and clapped before grabbing at the book and quickly flipping the pages to find another tale to be read. 

And she could not stop the tears then, even as Sansa continued to read to the little girl and did not notice her stepping farther into the room. She listened to Sansa read more, softly answering all of the girl’s questions and even doing different voices for different characters—like Catelyn used to do when they were children. It squeezed her heart in a grip of melancholic happiness. 

“Loreza!” Ellaria called from the hall. 

“Mother is back!” The girl smiled up at Sansa before squirming off her lap. She barely cast Y/N a second glance before dashing away. 

Sansa laughed to herself before closing the book and standing. She froze as she saw Y/N standing just inside the room. But then she was running toward her and throwing her arms around her shoulders with a cry that Y/N quickly matched. They held each other tight until their arms cried for reprieve but it still felt like it was too short of an embrace. They had been separated for too long. Too much had happened since they parted. To be reunited felt like a splinter of her soul had been slotted back in place.

“Oh, let me look at you,” Y/N said, holding Sansa at arm’s length. “Still gorgeous as ever.” She reached up to hold Sansa’s smiling cheek in her hand, thumb sliding against her skin. “The sun has made you pink, little one. Your freckles are beautiful.” 

Sansa laughed and nodded. “It is beautiful here. But it is as if the sun never sets.” 

Y/N smiled and pulled her close for another hug, tucking her nose into Sansa’s auburn hair and breathing her in. She still smelled of lemon cakes and freshly bloomed flowers. “I have missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you, too. But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Sansa’s fingers trailed up and down Y/N’s back, nails catching on the tight laces of her dress. And the pair simply held each other for a moment, stretching into another. “You saved my life.” 

“I’m sure Sandor saved you more than I did, little one.” 

Sansa sighed. “He is a good man.”

And there was something in the young Stark’s tone that had Y/N pulling back with a small smile. “Do not tell me you have developed some sort of longing for him.” 

Sansa’s pink face burned red. “I..I-I-”

Y/N chuckled and patted her shoulder. The infatuation would end eventually. Y/N knew that–she’d had her own crush on Ser Maegyr when she was Sansa’s age. “You have quite the taste in men. A rogue prince of your own, hm? Just like the stories Catelyn would read to you.” 

Her blush grew darker. “He is not a prince.” 

“Oh no, of course not. You’ve had your share of princes.” 

They both laughed but stopped as sounds of an argument grabbed their attention. Y/N laced her fingers with Sansa’s and pulled them toward the noise, down a hallway and around a corner as she followed where the sound led. As they grew nearer, Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat, recognizing the voices. Her footsteps hurried and Sansa quickly moved to match her pace. 

“You are not welcome here, Dog,” Oberyn nearly hissed. 

“I’m not here for you. She-”

Y/N thrust open the door and her knees nearly buckled. Standing behind Sandor, nearly hidden, was Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...there you go. Please let me know what you think!


	7. The Price of Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone for your patience and for leaving comments and kudos. I adore all of you. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach. 

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear. 

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries. 

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water. 

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind. 

“Tell me what is burdening you.” 

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured. 

“Never.” 

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.” 

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips. 

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh. 

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek. 

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

**

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a _battle_?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.” 

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.” 

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?” 

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.” 

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.” 

“Did you truly kill Gregor?” 

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.” 

“Was it quick?” 

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.” 

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.” 

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.) 

“No,” he said, final and direct. 

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.” 

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything. 

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.” 

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.” 

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder. 

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.” 

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose. 

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.” 

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way. 

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so. 

“But I have a question for you.” 

“And I shall answer.” 

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too. 

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft. 

“Is this truly what you want?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.” 

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?” 

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars. 

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.” 

And she believed him.

**

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward. 

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked. 

“Bad dream.” 

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.” 

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead. 

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.” 

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears. 

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her. 

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back. 

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.” 

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.” 

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.” 

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?” 

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were _still_ children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?” 

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.” 

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?” 

Sansa nodded. 

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

**

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.” 

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.” 

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.” 

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne. 

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes. 

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.” 

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.” 

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win. 

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her. 

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced. 

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner. 

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread. 

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.” 

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.” 

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.” 

“We never keep your time tables, brother.” 

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.” 

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile. 

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.” 

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear. 

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.” 

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added. 

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face. 

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious. 

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box. 

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them. 

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne. 

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.” 

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on. 

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.” 

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

**

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing. 

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne. 

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced. 

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was. 

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.” 

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.” 

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air. 

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile. 

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?” 

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach. 

“Careful. Careful.” 

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.” 

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too. 

It was all so…perfect. 

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father. 

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.” 

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle. 

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin. 

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths. 

“My lady.” 

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night. 

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush. 

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?” 

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.” 

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.” 

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.” 

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?” 

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone. 

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could. 

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.” 

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love. 

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne. 

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya. 

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation. 

“Shall I fetch you some water?” 

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?” 

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short. 

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?” 

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face. 

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace. 

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.” 

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.” 

His smile faded. “What has happened?” 

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, _please_.” 

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

**

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them. 

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary. 

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “ _We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue._ ” 

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it. 

Someone was whistling. 

And she knew the tune. 

_And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know._

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges. 

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours._

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle. 

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear._

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave. 

She was scared. 

_Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear._

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to _please go faster_ as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers. 

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.” 

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened. 

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!” 

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall. 

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would. 

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach. 

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins. 

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled. 

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help. 

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl. 

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it. 

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs. 

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	8. Pockets Full of Pebbles

_“Raise your elbow.”_

_The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory._

_“Perfect. Now loose.”_

_The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air._

_“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh._

_“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child._

_Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”_

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. _“All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,”_ her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words. 

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw. 

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces. 

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat. 

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

**

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.” 

“You look ill. You _will_ be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she gently scratched at the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.” 

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?” 

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.” 

**

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally. 

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N. 

Daemon rowed her out to the _Black Wind_ and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down. 

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in. 

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight. 

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.” 

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit. 

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?” 

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.” 

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her. 

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.” 

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.” 

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.” 

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.” 

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?” 

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.” 

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.” 

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

**

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?” 

“He is a Lannister!” 

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.” 

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed. 

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.” 

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning. 

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?” 

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.” 

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.” 

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.” 

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.” 

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady. 

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.” 

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden. 

And everyone in the room knew it. 

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.” 

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side. 

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?” 

Grey Wind whined, offended. 

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.” 

“I apologize, Daisy.” 

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” But Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeezed at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap. 

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.” 

“I _am_ going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.” 

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.” 

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.” 

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone. 

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep. 

All she could do was stare out to the sea. 

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes. 

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs. 

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan. 

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her. 

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam. 

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water. 

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip. 

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand. 

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N. 

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders. 

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

**

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but _two_ people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room. 

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.” 

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat. 

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.” 

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?” 

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to **live** , my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.” 

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.” 

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day. 

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left. 

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa. 

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work. 

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out. 

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked. 

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.” 

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment. 

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall. 

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.” 

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.” 

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.” 

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.” 

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin. 

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

**

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling a bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed an arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood. 

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.” 

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.” 

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched. 

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed. 

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.” 

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic. 

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.” 

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too. 

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered. 

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.” 

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.” 

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

**

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?” 

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!” 

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?” 

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her fingers for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched. 

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.” 

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.” 

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!” 

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?” 

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.” 

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?” 

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.” 

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.” 

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile. 

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her. 

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.” 

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.” 

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.” 

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.” 

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth. 

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.” 

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.” 

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place. 

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.” 

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

**

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away. 

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion. 

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way. 

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.” 

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.” 

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.” 

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out. 

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She reached out and pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin. 

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.” 

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.” 

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.” 

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.” 

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return. 

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression. 

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.” 

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!” 

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.” 

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. I apologize for the wait, but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it! Please let me know what you think!


	9. The Monster, The Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This chapter has A WHOLE BUNCH going on--warfare, revenge plots, smut. So...um...here you go. Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos. You all deserve nice things.

King’s Landing still smelled of piss and soured bread.

Robb’s missive had come just after they had set the Lannister fleet alight at Lannisport. Yara and her fleet would be left to sack Casterly Rock with a majority of Y/N’s small band of men while Obara and Arya and a handful of Riverlanders set off toward the capital with Y/N. 

Cersei had grown desperate and crazed. Growing only more bold and paranoid after she was crowned Queen.

King Tommen was dead. Margaery had been thrown into the Black Cells under suspicion of his murder and the new queen had pulled nearly all of her loyal bannermen to protect the city. Obara surmised that it was a Faceless Man, sent after the king after the Iron Throne refused to pay their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

So much had changed since she had left the safety of Sunspear’s shadows. And yet not enough. The Lannisters still called themselves the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and the Realm still suffered. 

Obella’s tactics had kept all but a handful of the men under Y/N’s command alive. The Westerlands had been put to the torch and their gold and silver mines plundered in the dark of the night. The small band of Riverlanders hid in the dense forests and picked off the Lions’ bannermen when the roads forced them to march two-by-two. She, Arya, and Obara had been welcomed as guests at Pinkmaiden and settled there as their first command stronghold. When asked why she did not think to travel to Riverrun, Y/N’s answer was simple. “I have asked men to leave their homes to fight. I do not go home until they do.” They had never stayed in a location for longer than two days, moving from target to target with brutal efficiency.

But now she was back in the gods-forsaken capital that she had narrowly escaped. 

“Has it always smelled like this?” Obara asked, nose crinkling as the wind carried the putrid stench up to the high hill above the city.

“Yes,” both Arya and Y/N answered. 

The men at their backs looked grim and anxious in their cloaks, trying to hide their armor. While the Northmen and Dornish were still marching toward the capital, the Reach knights and cavalry had been the first to arrive at the gates of the city, demanding the release of Margaery—the rightful queen. It provided a well-enough distraction. 

Y/N slipped off Qēlos’ back and patted the mare’s side in thanks. The beautiful horse had earned her weight in apples a thousand times over in this terrible war. She handed the reins to Lord Blackwood who promised to keep her safe until she returned. 

“But are you certain-”

“Lord Blackwood, my answer has not changed since the last time you asked. I thank you for your concern but it is unwarranted.” 

The older lord’s face colored with an embarrassed blush and he dipped his head. “Of course, my lady.” 

Arya barely concealed a laugh as she, too, dismounted but Obara was stone-faced as her feet hit the damp grass. Patrek Mallister was quick to offer his hand to take her horse’s reins. (In truth, he’d been quick to do anything Obara needed. When they were still setting the Westerlands ablaze and picking off their infantrymen from the cover of forest, Y/N noticed that the majority of men under Obara’s command were either half in love or half terrified of the eldest Sand Snake. Patrek was decidedly the former. His time as a captive of the Freys after the Red Wedding had stripped him of the wandering eye he was known for.) 

Obara and Arya stepped to Y/N’s side and they each took a deep breath. 

“May the Warrior protect you,” one of the men whispered at their backs. 

But Y/N could scarcely hear it over the thudding of her heart. No matter how many times she had readied for battle and shadowed warfare, her heart always leapt into her throat. And maybe that kept her alive, the slight-panic keeping her senses heightened.

“This way,” Arya said, leading them down, down, down. While Tyrion’s crude drawing of the placement of the wildfire around the Red Keep and King’s Landing was safely tucked into Y/N’s small pack, Arya was the one leading them into the mouth of the passages beneath the city. She had warned them about the smell. 

It did not help. 

Once pleasant and cool water gave way to stink and muck that had Y/N retching. Arya shushed her above the lapping brown water as one of Euron Greyjoy’s longboats neared where they had been treading against the waves. And then, much to her horror, it became clear that they would have to submerge themselves in the muck to avoid detection as the boat sailed by. Through the brown water and with burning lungs, Y/N watched the boat sail across the surface and she nearly vomited when they quietly crested, feeling the disgusting water line her mouth as she clutched her pack to her chest.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, starting a slow swim toward a dark corner of the wall. 

They were quiet as they hoisted themselves up into the stone hole, gurgling with more sludge. But Y/N could not hold back her retch any longer as they finally curled around a jagged corner. It echoed in the dark and she winced when she heard it. 

“Come, Little Fish, do not let your stomach fail us now.” Obara’s words of encouragement were stilted as she tried to keep her own rolling stomach contained. 

“The worst is behind us,” Arya whispered with a small smile, murky water on her lips.

Both Obara and Y/N sighed at the girl’s unflinching (if not dark) optimism they quickly set off after the young Stark, following her steps in the dark, twisting tunnels and up the tight steps of uneven stone stairs which led to more tunnels and more stairs. They walked in silence for a long stretch of time, the squish of their soaked boots the only sound they heard. But dim light soon trickled down from some unseen room above to light the path Arya led them on. With the light came the realization that they were surrounded by dragon skulls, damp and dusty with the passing of time. 

“I once thought they were monsters,” Arya whispered, a far-off look on her face. 

“Is this what you found when you disappeared for half a day?” Y/N asked, skirting around a skull with teeth as long as her arm. It all seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been worried about where Arya had hidden away and Ned had sent Y/N and half his guard out into the city to look for her. When Arya arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, reeking and dirty, near dark, Ned had been both relieved and furious with his youngest daughter.

“It was,” was all Arya said, voice sad. It had been a lifetime for her, too. 

And now they were here, in the bowels of the castle that had tried to rip their lives asunder and had very nearly succeeded. But now it was their turn. 

The dim light only grew a fraction brighter as Arya finally slowed to a stop—but the noise grew, too. 

The first voice was unmistakably Cersei; “the Red Keep has never fallen.” 

“Our own father helped it fall. Have you forgotten everything?” Jaime near-snarled in return. 

Y/N crept closer to light on quiet feet and followed it so she could more properly hear the conversation. Any bit of information was valuable, even if she was soaked in muck down to her skin. She pivoted so she could look up into the room above, a tiny sliver of stone crooked in its place. She recognized the carved pillars and marble lions of one of the interior courtyards even through the small field of vision the stone allowed.

“Father is here—he will never allow-”

“Our father is not a god despite your best efforts to make him one in your heart of hearts. And neither are you.” 

“He will keep us safe. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Let them try to take my crown.” 

“They _will_ try!” Jaime pressed. “The Tyrells are at the gates and the wolves and Martells are coming. What will you do when they arrive and Father’s plans fail you? Yara Greyjoy’s fleet have taken Casterly Rock. There are whispers of Riverlanders picking our bannermen off from the trees after torching most of our bannermen’s lands. What will you do?” 

There was a pregnant pause and Y/N felt Obara tug on the back of her jerkin, trying to get her to move. 

“Let them have ashes.” 

Obara tugged again and Y/N let herself be pulled away this time as she fumbled to grab the wax-coated map of Tyrion’s wildfire storehouses from its hiding place in her pack, unhearing of Jaime’s reply. “We must be quick.” 

Arya huffed. “ _You_ were dawdling.” 

But the three of them set off in search of the glowing jars of fire and found them almost exactly where Tyrion had said they would be and quickly—and carefully—started to move them, hoping that Tyrion’s map proved accurate again. It took hours of cautiously shuffling in the dark to move the cracked glass jars and half-filled barrels they found to where they needed them for this plan to work. They did not have the time to completely empty the city of its wildfire caches and knew there were still piles of them in secret coves and shadowed corners of the city’s underbelly.

Through more thin walls and cutaway stones, they heard whispers. Whispers of the forces outside the walls. Whispers of movement of the gold cloaks and Kingsguard around the city. Whispers of doom with the arrival of the Northmen at the gates. 

Whispers whispers whispers. 

When her arms ached and her clothes had dried, they moved the last little jar into their pile. But the tiny jar refused to settle and tried to topple from its perch. Y/N thrust her hands out and caught it before it shattered on the floor. A single drop leapt from the jar’s depths and missed her hand before it spattered on the ground, hissing and smoking against the stone. 

“We have to go,” Obara said. Even through the thick walls, they could hear the din of movement along the balustrades, readying for battle. Obara had a small barrel in her arms, too. The second-to-last piece in their plan. 

Y/N froze for only a moment before she tore off the sleeve of her tunic and shoved it into the top of the jar in as a makeshift stopper. She could use it later, she reasoned to herself, as she stuffed it into the small bag at her back. 

Arya was pressing her ear up to the slab of stone at the end of a squat, dead end tunnel. She only needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, face tight with concentration. “We’re good,” she whispered before reaching up to move the stone. A whoosh of cooled night air came with it. 

Obara started to slowly pour out the contents of her barrel, leaving a sickly green trail from the pile of jars up to Arya’s side. “You first, Pup,” she said, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling. 

Arya then leapt and scrambled up into the dark. Her little hands reached down for the barrel Obara was holding and Obara followed her path up once the barrel was out of her grasp. 

“Little Fish,” Obara whispered, “come. We’re nearly finished.” 

Y/N glanced back at the pile of wildfire. It looked so much smaller from a distance. She hoped it was enough. Obara held out a hand for her and Y/N took it, needing the help to get out of the tunnel. They were just outside the city now, right at the edge of one of the Old Gate. The grass was damp beneath their feet with early-morning dew as Obara took the barrel from Arya and quickly emptied its contents down into the hole and then trailed it away to leave a smoking green puddle. She discarded the barrel as they crept toward the sparse forest, hoping the growing sun would provide enough cover so the guards on the walls would not see them. The murmur of a city ill-at-ease crept over the high walls and gave a beat to their retreating steps. 

Tytos and Patrek were hidden behind the first handful of trees, looking more worried than Y/N expected. 

“The Tyrells have retreated for the moment. The archers on the walls have kept them from battering down the Lion Gate,” Tytos said as he handed over the reins to her horse. “And the Northmen have arrived.” 

“Have they seen you or our men?” Y/N asked as she rifled through one of the saddlebags for a canteen and a scrap of cloth and quickly wet it, wiping it across her face. 

“I do not believe so, my lady.” 

Y/N nodded and then tossed a fresh and damp cloth to Arya and Obara, letting them clean their faces, too. She then grabbed a small canteen of ale and swished it around her mouth before spitting it out. “Raise your banners. It is time we made our presence known.” 

Tytos nodded once again and signaled toward the men lining the dark of the trees. 

Y/N hurried to pull on her armor and huffed out a thanks when she felt Obara’s rough fingers tightening laces or adjusting the pauldron over her shoulder that she had skewed in her haste. Arya’s armor was impeccably placed even without help and Obara slapped at Patrek’s hand when he tried to assist her. 

The banners of the Riverlands started to rise as they stepped out of the tree line. Shouts came from the wall when they were spotted. 

Y/N patted Qēlos’ flank as she pulled her bow and quiver from the horse’s tack, sending the mare further into the woods to wait. 

“Archers!” Some gold cloak yelled from his perch. “Archers!” 

Y/N nocked her arrow and Arya lit the end. Dirty fingers pulled the string tight for just a moment as she angled it up into the sky and then let it loose. It sailed through the air and hit the small puddle of green at the base of the wall. 

A terrible crack and boom filled the sticky dawn air and Y/N nearly lost her footing as some invisible force shoved her back. Green flames filled the air and the city wall erupted into a storm of broken brick and black dust. 

“The wall!” someone cried, muffled against the ringing in her ears. “They’ve breached the wall!” 

Y/N righted herself and watched as her small band of Riverlanders and Obara and Arya surged forward in a wave, quickly followed by men in copper armor, pressing into the city’s wound as the green flames of the wildfire continued to eat at the wall and screaming soldiers. 

The Dornish had come. 

She nocked another arrow and let it fly, tearing into the neck of a distracted solider at the top of the crumbling wall. Another pushed an archer taking aim from his perch. Again and again she picked off the remaining soldiers on the balustrade above the hole in the wall until her quiver was empty. But then, even over the din of the battle, she heard a distinctive crack. Metal breaking and smacking against stone and brick. 

“The gate! Defend the gate!” 

And now there were two. 

Y/N slung her bow across her shoulders and drew the pair of small blades from her belt and pushed forward, trailing behind the press of Dornish and Riverlands. 

The city was in chaos. Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard and Westerland bannermen were scrambling over the rubble and wreckage, swords clashing against the invaders. But the Reach and North had pushed their way through the Lion Gate. 

There would be no escape. 

A man in red and gold armor screamed as he ran at her, spear thrust out in front. Y/N was able to dodge it but his feet could not be stopped and she sank the end of one of her blades through the eye slot of his helmet. She knew she needed to keep moving. Her armor was not meant for full-scale combat like this. But she would not leave her men, Riverlander or Dornish, to fight alone. 

But the battle raged. Her small blades were coated in crimson and her arms ached as they pushed forward toward the Red Keep. Toward Cersei. 

She caught sight of Arya in the skirmish ahead. The little wolf was holding her own for the most part against some City Watch brute but a well-timed kick to her stomach had Arya falling to the ground, her little sword slipping from her grasp. 

“Arya!” Y/N screamed as her heart leapt into her throat to strangle the air from her lungs. “ARYA!” She pushed through the pulsing group, watching the Gold Cloak sneer and stalk toward Arya who struggled to get to her feet. Y/N fought against the crowd, dodging an ax at her throat and a sword at her stomach with a desperation and savage grace a person could only conjure for someone they loved. But she knew… She wouldn’t get to her in time. She wouldn’t make it. The man raised his sword, sweaty face pulled tight with glee and ready to strike the life from Arya Stark and then-

A golden hand caught the sword just as its reached its crest and Jaime Lannister shoved the man back before driving his sword through his belly. 

Y/N slid to a stop on her knees as she reached Arya’s side, pressing Needle into Arya’s grasp again and urging her to her feet and back into the near-safety of the advancing crowd. Jaime gave them both a look as they stumbled back, unreadable and…sad. But then he was gone between the swarm of swords and shields.

The Bells did not ring. There would be no surrender. She expected nothing less from the queen. 

But perhaps she should have remembered Cersei’s cruelty, her need for control, and Cersei’s own words. All Y/N could think about was finishing this—finishing this war, this stupid war that had taken too much from everyone she cared about. 

As the sun started to settle high in the sky, she heard a rumble. Even over the roar of the growing battle, she heard it. Felt it shake the stones beneath her feet. And then the city burst. Green flames and thick smoke filled the air as brick and wood rained down like a terrible storm, ripping through Westerland armies and invaders alike. Dirt clouded her mouth and she tasted fire as her ears started to ring with an intensity she had never experienced, pushing her back and on unsteady feet. With dazed eyes, she watched a man in a gold cloak stumble forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the emerald flames blazed across his armor.

Someone’s hands grasped at her arm and tugged her to the side, finding a bit of refuge behind the fallen remains of an inn. Arya was looking up at her, covered in soot and blood and Y/N watched her mouth move for a few moments, unable to hear anything but then it came back in a wave. 

“-taking the Red Keep.” 

“What?” Y/N asked, tongue heavy in her mouth. 

Arya frowned. “Did you hit your head? Robb is about to take the Red Keep. Cersei must have sent someone to light the rest of the wildfire.” Arya turned to look at something over her shoulder and stiffened. “Come on. We haven’t finished this yet.” The younger girl pressed Y/N’s blades back into her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had lost them. And then Arya was striding away through the rubble, disappearing into a haze of smoke as green flames continued to lick at the wreckage. 

Y/N shook herself, trying to free her mind of the buzzing and sluggishness and opened her pack, making sure that her own stash of wildfire had not started to crack or bubble. It was intact, thankfully, and it gave her enough momentum to push forward. Another gold cloak ran into her path a few steps later. His armor was blackened and charred, and buckled when she kicked at his chest to knock him toward the ground before driving one of her blades into the small gap between his cuirass and helmet. 

It was easy when they staggered and stumbled or looked too long at the green flames. It was easy. When had it become so easy?

But it didn’t matter when she kept Obara from falling to some red cloak’s sword through her back or when Tytos was knocked from his horse by a City Watch soldier. It didn’t matter that it had become easy when she was keeping her people alive. The ground continued to rumble as more small pockets of wildfire roared to life and burned everything it could. But she kept moving forward, her steps trailing behind Obara’s as they pushed up the steps toward the Barbican of the Keep. It had been reduced to chunks of splintered wood and twisted metal, trampled over by the advancing armies. Y/N turned as she reached the top—just for a moment—to see the destruction the war and wildfire had brought upon the city. Almost a quarter of King’s Landing was gone, swallowed into the maw of black smoke and broken stone. The Red Keep was still burning. More green flames had reduced most of its outer walls to piles of smoking rock and ash. Only the Holdfast still stood tall. If Cersei’s plan had been to burn the advancing armies in the streets—she failed. But a sizeable group of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks still stood between them and the crown that sat on Cersei’s head.

And they pushed and swung their swords and battered their shields, driving the loyalists back or into the ground. 

But then something caught Y/N’s eye. Drew her attention like the Stranger had placed their hand upon her head and turned it.

Tywin Lannister was standing outside the smoking Tower of the Hand. His sword was bent and his helmet fell from his fingers with a clatter. His guards had abandoned him; his grand army reduced to only a handful of men. But his face still hardened when his cold eyes raked over her. Even as the battle had clearly been lost, he held his head high and pointed his sword toward Y/N with a sneer. “Come along, girl. Let us finish this.” 

Equal parts dread and joy stoked her soul then. And her heart thundered in her chest even as she knew that the time was short. As Tywin took a step toward her, she threw one of her blades, aiming for his throat—and he deflected it easily, as she knew he would. But her hand dove into her pack and her fingers found the warm glass. Y/N threw the jar at him, uncaring of how her shoulder popped and ached with the sudden movement. All she could do was smile when she watched it smash across his chest plate, dripping green. His eyes grew wide as recognition flickered across his face. She bent to pick up a piece of burning wood and threw it at him, watching the green flames erupt. 

Fire makes people dance. And Tywin was no exception. He screamed through the green. 

The scrape of a sword against a sheath gained her attention. 

It was Oberyn. Dark eyes alight with want and fury and, with a single stroke, took Tywin’s head from his shoulders. It still burned as it rolled across the stone, spitting green embers in its wake. The body slumped to the ash-covered ground, plate armor smacking against broken stone. And then Oberyn was marching toward her, sliding his bloodied sword back into its sheath. With his usual brutal grace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slanted his mouth against hers, uncaring of the grime or dirt. Y/N quickly reciprocated, pressing her lips firmly against his. Months of separation, months of wondering if she would see him again despite her promise, months of yearning poured out of her as she grasped at the back of his neck to pull him closer, uncaring for the moment of the surrounding destruction. All there was, was Oberyn Oberyn Oberyn and his beautiful mouth that she had missed too much. 

He only pulled back to breathe before he took another kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Blood suits you, my moonlight.” 

And it suited him, too.

**

Tywin’s head looked large as it sat next to Cersei’s. Most of it had escaped the wildfire because of Oberyn’s quick removal but half of it was still charred.

The man and woman who had destroyed her family had been reduced to silent heads on a soot-covered floor. 

Robb was sitting on the Iron Throne, Widow’s Wail across his lap and a hammered bronze and iron crown settled over his dark auburn curls. The grime and blood of battle still streaked his armor but he looked every bit the portrait of a king with Grey Wind sitting near his feet, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like someone’s arm. The remains of the Throne Room were filled with dirt-smudged commanders and lords who had sacked the City. Oberyn found all of it tedious and had slipped away with a kiss to her temple to help his men settle into camp for the night.

The sun was setting, casting the entire room in the warm glows of pink and orange over its broken walls and melted windows, like the gods were presenting them all with a bit of beautiful quietness for their victory. Their dead would be tended to later, before the city would be looked over to see what could be salvaged. The story that Cersei had set the stashes of wildfire alight as a final effort to kill the advancing armies was already being whispered throughout the smoking city. No one needed to know that the only reason why more destruction had not been reaped was because of Y/N, Obara, and Arya’s actions in the winding tunnels. It was their secret to keep and hold. 

As Robb started to hold court, presiding over the captured Lannister forces and learning Euron’s fleet had turned and run when the wildfire had started, fleeing East toward Essos, Y/N excused herself, trying to fill her lungs with something more than soot. She walked through the winding halls, some half broken and others still filled with groups of injured needing a healing touch. And perhaps it was muscle memory, but Y/N found herself standing outside the door of her old room before she could remember turning that corner or walking down this hall. Her fingers brushed against the wood. The wound from Gregor’s sword had not been patched and it splintered under her touch when she pressed against it. For a moment, she thought of opening the door and walking in and seeing what else had changed or stayed the same. But her hand retreated. Her life was not here anymore. There was no need to step into a place of terrible memory just for memory’s sake. 

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and Y/N’s heart leapt into her mouth at the sight. “Jon?” 

His face morphed from anger to surprise to joy and then he was running toward her with outstretched arms. 

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him, uncaring of the blood or dirt and grime. He still smelt of fresh snow and pine even over the stench of battle. His gloved hand found the back of her head and he held her close—like he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp if he let go too soon. “Your hair is so long now,” she murmured into his shoulder.

And his answering laugh sounded choked in his throat. “I have so much to tell you.” 

“We have all the time in the world.”

But then Mace Tyrell cam huffing and puffing into the hall, still clad in his gaudy golden armor and red in the face. “My lady, Lord Snow, His Grace is requesting your presence.” He then turned and half-ran back toward the throne room without an ounce of grace and his tarnished golden armor untightened and slapping against his extremities with each step.  
Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder. 

“You have not changed at all, Y/N,” Jon quietly mused. 

“Oh, I have changed quite drastically, dear cousin. But not the parts that matter.” 

Jon shook his head with a small smile. “I will hear your stories one day.” 

“As I shall hear yours,” she promised just as they walked through the broken threshold. But the respite was torn away the moment she noticed who had been lead in chains in front of Robb’s new throne. A handful of Freys were on their knees and snarled at her as she walked past when Robb waved her forward to stand at his side. They were surrounded by the small band of men she had brought to King’s Landing—every one of them looked hungry for blood. And if there had not been an audience, Y/N would have let them slake that need. 

“House Frey has refused to bend the knee,” Robb said, his light eyes cold and hard as his gaze moved to the men at his feet. 

“Usurper-!” 

Whatever insult the Frey had wanted to spout was silenced when Tytos cracked him across the face with a closed fist, his dented gauntlet still covering his hand. “Silence!” 

He turned and spat blood. A tooth clinked against the floor. “Bitch.” 

Tytos raised his hand again to claim the rest of his brown teeth but Robb stood from the throne and strode down to the man and grabbed the Frey’s greasy hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. The edge of Widow’s Wail pulled a thin line of crimson from his throat as he gulped. “Tell her what you confessed. Tell her, braggart,” Robb seethed, making sure to angle his face to look at Y/N. But every other person was staring at her, too. 

And Y/N wished she had Oberyn to stand with—to feel his steadying warmth at her side when the man’s hard stare ripped across her face. But Arya was a comfort too, moving to stand at her side with a snarl of her own. “We found your father outside Pinkmaiden. He tried to bargain, said the Red Wedding did not have to stain all of our hands.” 

Y/N could feel her heart stutter in her chest but fought to keep her face neutral. “But you did not care to treat with my father.” 

“We dragged him to Harrenhal,” another man said with a laugh. “Took his head and gave the rest to the bear.” 

Y/N felt her stomach roll. Bile was rising in the back of her throat in a terrible wave as she curled her hands into fists behind her back. Grey Wind rose and licked his bloody chops, baring his sharp teeth and the man cowered and shriveled. “You boast of your own damnation. Have they never taught you of what becomes of men who do not heed the gods’ warnings? Or have the gods never touched The Twins?” 

The Freys bellowed, screaming and hollering this and that but all she could hear was a dull roar in her ears, watching their dirty faces contort with their own simple rage. 

She dragged her gaze to Robb. “I have heard what they had to say, Your Grace. What else would you have of me?” 

Robb stood straight, ignoring how the prisoners still fumed. “I would have nothing of you, my lady. You and your house have paid a high price for your loyalty.” 

Robb’s words pushed something both cold and soft against her fragile heart. She nodded once, knowing his words meant more than their simple meaning. “House Frey has wronged more than just me and mine, Your Grace. You know that better than anyone. Do with them what you will. I do not care for their mortal coils and the gods will not care for their souls.” And she watched, a little entranced as they were dragged away, one by one, and slowly the Freys’ screaming was snuffed out. Y/N noticed a bit of tension leech from Robb’s posture as the quiet settled over the crowded room and he retook his seat. 

But it was quickly washed away as the next prisoner was brought in, chains singing with each step. A quick kick to the back of his legs brought Jaime Lannister to his knees in front of Robb. And the last living lion in the city actually smiled. “Stark, we must stop meeting like this.” 

Maege Mormont started to draw her sword when Robb held up a hand. “You once made my mother a promise. An oath. To return her daughters to her care.” 

“I did.” His green eyes flickered to Arya at Y/N’s side. 

“You failed.” 

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I did.” 

“And then we find you fighting alongside your sister.” 

“To be fair, it seemed your sisters were already in the care of your cousin so my oath-”

“My sister is the only reason your head is not on a spike,” Robb seethed. “She told me of how you saved her life.” 

“Is this true, Lady Arya?” Some lord from the Reach asked. He was quickly met with looks of derision from the surrounding Northmen for questioning her or Robb. (“Of course it is true! She’s no reason to lie!”)

“It is true,” Y/N said, stepping in front of Arya who looked ready for the ground to swallow her whole. Her pride was a fearsome thing. “I saw it with my own eyes. Against his own bannerman, he raised his sword to keep Arya safe.” Murmurs started to slide through the assembled crowd and Robb’s jaw ticked to the side but all Y/N could see was Jaime’s soft, sad smile when he looked at her, like he was remembering how she cried and asked him not to tell anyone. A quiet kindness repaid. 

“Your brother has been granted exile.” 

And Y/N watched Jaime’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, as Robb continued to speak. 

“You will have until sunrise to find a way out of my kingdom. If I see you again, your head will be thrown into Blackwater Bay.” Robb waved his hand and the chains encircling Jaime’s wrists and ankles were released. “A life for a life, Lannister. I suggest you make the most of it.”

**

“Perhaps they’ll have a song about my father when this war is truly over and the city is rebuilt. They can call it the Fish and the Bear.”

“I would hope the bards would grant him a more fitting song. He had more tales to tell than the way he left this plane, my moonlight.” Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as they stood on the balcony of her room, watching the city settle in for the night and she pressed her ear over his heart, listening to its beautiful beat and letting it steady her own.

It had been nearly a week since they had taken the Red Keep and Robb had been proclaimed king. Everything was slowly being rebuilt. Northmen and cavalry from the Reach were staying to help the city’s smallfolk resettle and survive, creating a sense that all would be well. The gold taken from the Westerland mines settled the Iron Throne’s debt with Braavos. Margaery had been surrounded by the maesters and healers the Tyrells had ferried with them in the war, making sure her time in the Black Cells had not permanently injured her, but had been presented to Robb just this morning and he had gladly accepted her as his queen. It was all a show, of course. The alliance between Robb and the Reach had been forged in the shadows long before he ever set foot in the city. The plan that Oberyn and Ellaria carefully crafted had unfolded beautifully. There were a handful of pieces left to move but Oberyn and Dorne were thankful for a bit of respite and Y/N was grateful for his arms to fall into when she felt that insidious ache once again grow in her chest. Oberyn made it easier to bear. He had kept her close when the other lords and ladies started to learn of her campaign in the Westerlands and what she had done—looks of horror and morbidly curious whispers disappeared when Y/N was in his arms. She only wished that Ellaria was there, too. It had been far too long since she had them in her arms. She needed them both.

“You are being called back to Sunspear, are you not, my prince?” A raven had arrived from Dorne just after they had broken their fast. 

“ _We_ are being called back to Sunspear,” he mused before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But you are not coming with me.” 

Y/N had not said anything to give him that inclination. But Oberyn always knew. She felt him breathe in the scent of her skin as she sighed, burrowing a little closer to his warm chest. “I have to finish it.” 

“I know, my moonlight, I know. And I will never keep you from your wrath.” He leaned back to gently cradle her face in his warm hands. “But I will have you promise me, again. Promise me that you will not forget us. Come home. When you are finished, come home.”

**

“Tell me something, Arya. Something good.”

“I met a boy. Named Gendry.”

A dense fog had settled over the damp grass, curling its ghostly fingers around the trunks of the trees that sheltered Y/N and the armed men from any eyes that might be scanning the land from the safety of their chambers. 

Arya spoke, unhurried but succinctly, about her time disguised as ‘Arry’ with Yoren and then the Brotherhood without Banners, as Y/N waited for her men to finish a perimeter check. Most she knew, having gleaned it from conversations with Arya back in Dorne when they took breaks at the training grounds with Obara. But it seemed she placed the secret of Gendry a little closer to her heart. “I thought I saw him in King’s Landing before we left. Working as a blacksmith again.” Arya almost sounded wistful. “I didn’t ask or get too close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if it was him.” 

“I think we have both learned that fear gets us nowhere, Arya,” Y/N said softly. “If he makes you happy, makes you laugh, try. Seven know you deserve some joy.” 

Arya’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and she looked out toward the formidable fortress of The Twins, seat of House Frey. A strange location for such sentimental talk but it seemed the pair both needed a bit of respite. The handful of Riverlands men who had gone with her to King’s Landing were accompanying her for one last mission. And a small band of Northmen who were heading home were given leave by their king to help Y/N if they chose—and they did.

Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, trotted to her side on silent feet and Qelōs whinnied in greeting. Y/N had met Ghost after taking King’s Landing when she found Jon wandering the ruins of the holdfast, trying to find a kitchen so he could feed Ghost. The direwolf was decidedly quieter than Grey Wind but no less protective of his chosen Stark or anyone Jon seemed fond of.

And where Ghost was, Jon always appeared. She watched Jon slide through the trees to stand at her side.

“Twelve guards on the perimeter. Five archers in the Water Tower.”

“Inside?”

“No more than forty.”

Y/N nodded and tightened her grip on the reins. She knew most of the Freys and their allies had been in King’s Landing and had been disposed of in battle or by the ax.

But she wanted all of them.

“They seem to be gathering who they can. Must’ve heard whispers of us marching North.” 

But the Freys had few allies left. They were the only house in the Riverlands who had not sent forth supplications and oaths of fealty to the new king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the simple bit of parchment in Y/N’s saddlebag was all the protection and fodder she needed to fan the flames already consuming the dark part of her heart that had led her here. It read simply; House Tully was once again Lord Protector of the Trident and the liege lord of the Riverlands. Any and all actions House Tully made on behalf of the Crown to secure allegiance and peace were sanctioned and accepted. 

Perhaps Robb did not know what Y/N meant to do. But maybe he did, letting her loose on the House that had caused both her and her sweet cousins so much pain. She had kept her wrath contained while at war. It burned and raged under her skin but she had pulled it back like a tiger on a chain, knowing that if she had let herself be blinded by her need for vengeance, she would have only caused herself and others more heartache as her men would fall to the sword and ax because her plans would have left them vulnerable instead of safe. But now they were safe. This was the final piece. And she could let it finally burn.

A window pushed open and caught Y/N’s eye. A glint of metal, a cage, was revealed in low candlelight. The rookery, it would seem. Y/N watched a raven fly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it and pulled her bow taut, listening to the string sing under her fingers. The arrow flew and took the bird from its flight. They would have no support. 

Y/N drew another arrow and turned to Jon. “Give the signal.”

**

“Your father would be proud, my lady. You are a force, just as he.” Tytos was still filled with compliments even as he let a maester stitch up a gash on his arm.

Y/N managed to smile and dipped her rag into a bowl of fresh water and dragged it across her blood and dirt caked face and neck as she glanced out the window. For a moment, she doubted Brynden Tully would be proud of her. Letting loose a band of men still raging from victory and anger from the betrayal of the Red Wedding onto enemy territory and giving them permission to do whatever they wanted and needed to take the fortress was not honorable or something he would have ordered. But he was gone and she still breathed. She was a survivor—and she knew he would be proud of that.

Portcullises crumpled and arrows flew. Swords ran red and the fortress burned. The siege had lasted all of a handful of hours—just long enough for her to spend her quiver of arrows as she picked off fleeing Freys as they ran across the bridges. But it was finished. Almost. 

Y/N grasped Tytos’ uninjured shoulder and squeezed, telling him to rest as Patrek ran into the room and told her they had finished gathering the Freys as she requested. He led her out of the damp, dark castle and onto the grass just on the edge of the Green Fork. A band of about twenty men were on their knees as the Northmen and Riverlanders created a circle around them with dirtied swords kept them from wavering. 

The last of the Freys. All of them were guilty. Every single one of them knew of the plot and drew their blades when the time came. Each one had benefitted in some way from the slaughter of the Red Wedding and murder of her father.

Patrek continued on as Jon separated himself from the group and touched her arm just before they reached the group. “This will not bring them back,” he whispered, dark eyes pleading. He had seen enough bloodshed.

Y/N pushed his hand from her arm and stepped forward. “No, it will not. But blood begets blood. And I shall bathe in it. There shall be no root or stem left.” 

Patrek had dragged a large stump from the tree line and set it at her feet. She watched a few of the men nervously glance between the stump and Y/N, knowing what was coming. 

“Your men have refused to swear fealty to King Robb, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your House has refused to bend the knee. Guest Right was violated for greed.” Y/N held her hand out for the ax Lord Cerwyn had across his back and he gave it readily. “I have learned that if you pass the sentence, you should swing the sword. I gave the order.” The weapon was heavy in her grip as she remembered Ned’s words. She’d just been a girl when he had said them and his eyes were sad. But she knew the words to be true and just. “Bring me Lord Walder Frey.” 

Two Northmen darted into the group of Freys and pulled a snarling man, still in his sleeping clothes, up and then dropped him to his knees at Y/N’s feet.

“Little Lady Tully,” Walder sneered with rotted teeth. “If your cousin had been half the bitch you are, she might still be breathin’.” 

“The gods gave you a chance to be true when they sent Lady Catelyn to your door. They gave you another when your men found my father. You and your wretched family betrayed mine. Now you must reckon with me.” 

Walder’s face contorted and splotches of red dotted his grey cheeks. “You-”

Y/N swung the ax and buried it into his neck but it caught on this spine. His eyes grew wide as blood spurted and oozed from the wound. Walder’s mouth opened and closed with silent curses and stained his brown teeth red. She yanked the ax back and watched the Frey crumple down onto the stump before finally cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. “Bring me the next,” she called out over her shoulder. “I should like to finish this before nightfall.” 

She needed a new ax after the third Frey. And a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her face and hands. 

“Bring me the next!” 

A tall man was then shoved to his knees in front of her, brown hair thin and greasy as it stuck to his sweaty face. He snarled up at her, as a handful of others did before. 

“Name?” 

“Raymund Frey.” 

And that gave Y/N pause. “Arya!” Arya came running, a stranger’s blood streaked across her cheek but still bright-eyed. Y/N handed over the ax. She took it with a frown and glanced at the Frey. “This is Raymund Frey.” 

Realization dawned on the young Stark’s face and her grip tightened. If the Freys had not been so fond of bragging, perhaps they would not have known he had been the one to slit Catelyn’s throat at the Red Wedding. But they knew. And so, Y/N watched Arya bury the ax into the man’s neck. 

And when all of them were gone, bodies left out to be pecked by hungry carrions, Y/N walked out into the river and washed the blood from her hands. It was finished. The blood in the rivers had washed her clean.

**

Riverrun had managed to survive a handful of sieges and a brief Frey occupation without losing its integrity. Jon and Arya accompanied her to her family’s seat and she invited the Northmen to rest in its halls for a fortnight before continuing North.

Houses from the Riverlands descended upon Riverrun when they heard of her return and Edmure’s release from the bowels of Casterly Rock. And Y/N was not sure if they had heard of her campaign at the Twins or in the Westerlands but a handful of them stuttered and avoided eye contact when they once again swore fealty to House Tully and bumbled through lathing compliments for King Robb as if he were standing beside her. It amused Arya endlessly who poorly concealed her giggles behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder. 

But Edmure had been much changed since his time in Casterly Rock’s dungeons. He walked with a limp and was in need of a cane. The fingers on his left hand were crooked, healed broken and at strange angles. And his vigor had left, his pride, too. Whenever anyone asked for an edict or command, his blue eyes flickered to Y/N and she found herself answering. 

Settling feuds, giving instruction on how to rebuild, granting clemency, and doling out justice when needed. Through all of it he seemed to look to Y/N for guidance, to answer for him. She had only planned to stay long enough to make sure the Riverlands were at peace but Edmure gave her pause.

It was exhausting and confusing and Y/N, more often than not, found herself in the familiar kitchens late at night in search of wine. While she had anticipated that being within Riverrun’s familiar halls would finally grant her some peace, all she found was longing for the warmth of the Dornish sun and the gentle touch of Ellaria and Oberyn. The sound of the little ones laughing in the Water Gardens while Obara hollered out formations at the training field. Riverrun was so…quiet. Had it always been so quiet and cold? A small comfort was taking her father’s childhood rooms as her home. It was a way to feel close to him but the ache that had settled in her heart grew a little easier to bear with each passing day. And receiving a raven from Winterfell made her smile, too. It was from Sansa, stating that she had sailed North from Sunspear and had settled back into Winterfell without issue, a small band of loyal Northmen at her call. She had been named Warden of the North by her brother Robb and Y/N remembered how the broken throne room had been filled with cheers at the news, even if Sansa had not been present to hear it. But her own troubles persisted.

Jon found her the night before he, Arya, and the Northmen were to depart for their homes. She poured him a large glass of wine and ushered him into a seat in the dark room and finally pried his story from him. He spoke of betrayal and death and love and loyalty until the sun rose with the next morning. 

“Out of all the Starks, you were the most prone to finding trouble.” She reached out to grasp his hand and squeezed, matching tired smiles on their faces. “But you survived. That is all that matters to me.”

He laughed and rubbed at his eyes as she smiled. “If you ever tire of the snow, come to Dorne. I will always have a place for you.”

And then she led him out into the sun to join the rest of the Northmen and bid him goodbye with a tight hug and a kiss against his head and she turned to Arya who begrudgingly gave back the Sand Steed she had stolen before hugging Y/N with a ferocity only she was capable of. 

“Find your joy, little wolf,” Y/N whispered into her hair as she held Arya tight. “You deserve it. Now, stay safe.” 

Arya nodded and sniffled once before clearing her throat as she pulled back. They both whispered soft goodbyes to each other as the morning light continued to grow. And then Y/N watched them disappear on the horizon with a heavy heart, knowing she was strangely alone now in the place she had called home. As she stepped inside, she nearly bowled over Roslin. Apologies tumbled from Roslin’s mouth as she cradled her son to her chest, almost shaking. 

Y/N bit back a sigh and plastered a smile on her face. In truth, Roslin was a genial and gentle woman. Pretty. Loyal. So unlike the rest of her family. Y/N saw how she constantly looked to Edmure with love in her eyes and was met with a broken smile in return. And when the news had come of what had been become of her family, Roslin almost seemed relieved. It made Y/N wonder what she had endured while under her father’s thumb. “It is nothing, my lady. My fault. You are Lady Tully now. Apologize for only what is necessary.” 

Roslin froze for a moment, as she always seemed to do whenever Y/N spoke with her, but then nodded with a small smile of her own. “Of course, my lady. Thank you.”

The pair spoke for a little longer, Y/N asking after the health of her babe, a boy nearing his first nameday and named after Edmure’s childhood idol and pride of their house, Kermit Tully, who had led House Tully to the height of their power during the Dance of Dragons. Yes, Y/N supposed, Roslin would grow to be a fine Lady Tully.

If only she could ensure Edmure would become the man she needed him to be. 

Y/N eventually found herself slipping away after bidding Roslin a good day and walking up toward the rookery, she wanted to send a raven to Sansa to ask how she was faring. The ravens cawed in greeting as she stepped inside. They always recognized her, the intelligent little beasts. But it was the open window that drew her attention. A white raven cawed as it turned to watch her approach. The noise came again as she brushed a finger against the bird’s back and it fluttered its wings, showing the slip of parchment tied to its leg. 

Y/N already knew what the missive would say – white ravens only appeared with the changing of the seasons. 

The raven cawed against and nuzzled against her finger as she untied the parchment before flying away. And she was right – “winter has come” was all the Citadel had written, probably in haste to finish the hundreds more needing to be sent. 

When she asked Edmure what should be done, finding him sequestered away in Hoster’s old rooms, he gave her another tired smile and asked her to make sure the other Riverlands houses were informed and cared for. Yet another obstacle. Dorne had never seemed so far away.

Y/N ordered the overfilled storehouses of the Twins be emptied to make sure the houses beleaguered by the long war would not starve and wrote to Willas and Olenna in Highgarden to secure a few hundred bushels of grain and barley as well. Even with the war, the Reach had enough to spare. And so, more weeks slipped through her hands. Lords and ladies from across the Riverlands came to Riverrun to receive what House Tully could give them and continue to ask for guidance from their liege lords.

An envoy from House Vance was the latest to arrive and it was then that Edmure seemed to finally show some of his former self. He smiled and greeted them, welcomed them, and helped them settle for the handful of nights they would be housed at Riverrun. And a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding finally pushed its way out of her tired lungs. He would be fine, she told herself. He just needed time.

Even Roslin seemed to settle more into her role at Edmure’s side. It was comforting to know that House Tully was secure once again. She sent a raven to Dorne, telling Oberyn and Ellaria she hoped to leave within a fortnight and arrive before the first snow of the new season. It put a certain spring in her step to think that soon she would be back in Dorne. She would be married and-

“Y/N!” Edmure called her name and snapped her from her pleasant reverie before the evening meal. She walked to his side in the hall and offered a small smile. “I have a gift for you, cousin.” 

Before she could ask what the gift was, they were ushered into the hall for the meal. Edmure then pointed out Lord Vance’s third son and prattled on for a majority of the meal. Kirth Vance was handsome, she supposed, and he spoke kindly to servants and squires alike and tended to his horses and hunting dogs with care and doted on his nieces and nephews—if Edmure could be trusted. But every word nearly turned her stomach and she resorted to pushing her food around her place in a poor attempt to look like she was eating. 

Ser Kirth was almost bashful as he met her gaze and quickly ducked his head with pink cheeks. “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen,” Edmure continued to whisper. “Kirth is not one to overstep—he would listen to your commands and see them through as a faithful consort to you here at Riverrun.” 

And then she saw what this was. 

“I would have the room,” Y/N said, rising from her seat. While most everyone quickly scurried away, including Roslin and her babe, Edmure signaled for Kirth to come closer. “No, no, Ser Kirth. My dear cousin has misread my intentions. I would speak to him alone.” Another ruddy blush took over his cheeks and he tipped his head before all but running from the hall. When the door firmly shut, she rounded on Edmure. “How dare you.” 

Edmure stood, cane clacking against the floor. “Y/N-”

“If you think for a moment that you have the ability to coerce me into staying by offering me a man like that, you do not know me at all.”

“You led the Riverlands to victory. Not me. Not little Robb. You, dear cousin. You raised the banners and called on their loyalty and oaths. You bled alongside them.” Edmure pulled in a shaking breath and pressed harder onto his cane. “Riverrun should be yours.”

“I do not want it.” Y/N turned away from him, trying to hide her disgust. “Is this why you have shunned your duties? You believe you cannot serve your people.”

“I _know_ I cannot.” And he sounded so defeated that she almost turned to comfort him. But rage kept her still. 

“Then the Lannisters have won. They sought to strip you of your will and pride and make you a soulless creature of their making.” And Edmure was quiet and that was what had her turning. Her once near-boastful and handsome cousin had all but curled in on himself, face warped and scrunched like he was near tears. “Don’t let them win, Edmure. They are gone. You are still here. You are the man who led men into battle without flinching. You are the man who sheltered smallfolk here, in your home, because you knew they were scared.” Her voice cracked, broken in her throat. “You are the man who read me stories when I was a child. You are a good man. True, brave, and honest.”

Edmure shook his head and a single tear escaped his eye. “I cannot be that man again. I am tied to the family that imprisoned me, killed my sister-”

Y/N reached out to place her hand over Edmure’s on the head of his cane. “The Freys are dead and at my hand. I would gladly do it again. But that woman loves you—loves your son—despite your best attempts to spurn them. The gods have given you a fine wife, Edmure. Do not squander it.” 

“She-”

“Is your wife. The mother to your heir. You were once a man of honor. Be so again. No one shall claim the Twins. Let it rot if you wish. Roslin loves you, chose you over her family. There is no ill will in that woman’s soul toward anyone. Just love.” Y/N sighed. “We know love in any form is rare, Edmure. You have found it in Roslin. I have found it-”

“In Dorne,” Edmure grumbled. “Yes, I have heard of your betrothal to Prince Oberyn and your dalliances with his paramour.” 

Y/N pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, a sad shield against the wound he had cut. “I am happy. They love me. I love them. Why can you not see-”

“He has daughters older than you, Y/N. All of them bastards. Do you not believe you could find someone more suitable to call husband?” 

“And you think Kirth Vance would be suitable?” She bit out, anger replacing the hurt. “I would give Oberyn eight more bastards if the gods allowed!” She bellowed as something protective struck at her stomach, even if the targets of her cousin’s ire were thousands of leagues away. “He loves me and I love him and Ellaria. He fought beside me, for me—for the gods-forsaken pile of brick and mortar because he knew I once called it home.” 

“It is your home!” Edmure yelled in return. “You are a Tully-”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell’s wife in all but name and I am going home!” Her chest heaved and she wiped a hand across her face, trying to calm herself before said anything else. “You are the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Paramount of the Trident. You are not a child. Your life has led to this moment. Do not forsake Hoster’s teachings for your learned meekness. He named you as his heir—be the man he knew you to be. Because I cannot and will not be.” And then she left, leaving Edmure alone.

**

Y/N pulled her fur-lined cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as she strode out to the stables. Qelōs was being tended to by the stable hand and her tack was ready to be placed on her gleaming back. Full saddlebags were ready for one last journey South. Y/N had spent the last night in Riverrun’s Sept, praying for guidance and for her father’s soul once more time—another quiet goodbye. She thought it would be fitting to do it here, in his former home. And as the sun rose the following morning, it was the most at ease she had felt in almost a year.

“I am never coming this far North again,” Obara said, moving closer to her to try to get a bit of body heat. The large fur cloak and gloves were not enough, it seemed. Obara and Oberyn had led an envoy to the Riverlands to collect Y/N and ensure she was safely delivered back to Sunspear. Frost had started to stick to the grass around Riverrun, thin sheets of ice collected over patches of the rivers and Obara had been distraught about the temperature since she arrived with her father two days ago. Ellaria and the rest of the Sand Snakes had stayed in Dorne. Loreza and Dorea had apparently caught a bit of a fever with their first Winter and Oberyn and Ellaria both wanted to keep the rest of their daughters healthy. The little ones would be fine, but Ellaria and Oberyn always wanted to be sure.

Y/N chuckled at Obara’s plight and pulled a thick wool stole from one of her bags and wrapped it around Obara’s shoulders, making sure to tuck it high around her neck. “What of your plans to see Seagard? Hm? Lord Patrek will be devastated.” 

Obara sniffed and looked away. “He must wait for Winter to end if he wishes to have me at his home. I am of Dorne. He-”

“Is in love with you, Obara. And Lord Mallister is amiable to the match if you wish it.” Y/N assumed tales of Obara saving his heir’s life and fighting beside the Riverlanders may have something to with Lord Mallister easing his views on who could be a possible match for his son. That, and Oberyn Martell being her father, a Prince of Dorne and the man who took Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders was a definite bargaining point. Y/N finished tucking the stole around her frigid companion. “But I am happy to simply see your face again.”

“Sap,” Obara said with a small smirk. “If I have to hear Father wax poetic about your eyes the entire ride to Dorne, I will be forced to murder you both.” 

“Oh, I expect nothing less.” 

They spoke a little longer, watching their horses be readied for the ride before one of the stable hands said, “Oh, Lord Tully! Good morrow!” 

Y/N turned to see Edmure at the mouth of the stables. Roslin was at his side, a small smile on her delicate lips. Something was bundled in his left arm, his right still holding his cane. It had been a tumultuous two weeks within Riverrun’s halls. Edmure had stumbled when regaining his duties but fulfilled them with more confidence with each day. He had kept his conversations with Y/N at a minimum and had steadfastly refused to speak to Oberyn more than necessary when he first arrived. But Edmure softened. At almost an alarming rate. But perhaps that was simply Oberyn’s charm. His pervasive magnetism that could draw nearly everyone to his side if he wanted them. Edmure was no exception. And that gave Y/N a little comfort, to know that Edmure did not hate her betrothed as he had tried. Knowing her two families, no matter how different, were coming together was a solace. Riverrun would survive under Edmure’s lordship. 

The pair stepped closer and Roslin helped Edmure press the bundle into Y/N’s arms. “It is a gift for you. A reminder of… of Riverrun.” Not of home. Not anymore. 

Y/N looked down at the bundle and watched it move, the tip of the fabric peeling away to reveal a fluffy snout. Y/N quickly unwrapped the dog with a huff of a laugh as it wiggled in her hold. The pup fit comfortably in her arms and had the most beautiful black fur with a tuft of white on his chest. 

“He is of the Riverlands, hearty and loyal. Even if Riverrun is no longer your home, I’d like… I’d like if you still had a piece of us with you.” 

The pup squirmed in her grasp and raised up on unsteady legs to lick at her chin with a happy yip. A fortuitous distraction for both Edmure and Y/N as they tried to clear the tears from their eyes. Y/N nodded and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before leaning up to kiss Edmure’s cheek. “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Edmure. A treasure to be sure.” 

It was not an apology, not an outright one anyway. But Y/N accepted it just the same. It was a soft ending to a hard chapter. 

But she was ready to start a new one. 

And as Oberyn walked into the stables, a soft smile on his face, she knew it would be a good one.

**

The distance between Riverrun and Sunspear seemed so long and so short at the same time. Each night was spent in Oberyn’s arms, trying to reclaim the time she had lost. They would whisper about their plans for the future, of how they both wished Ellaria in their arms when the nights grew colder and colder.

But it was good. It was soft and gentle and eased the ache she had held against her heart like a shield since she had left his arms. It was good. 

The pup had grown astonishingly fast. He often squirmed out of her grasp in the saddle to trot alongside their horses. If there were ever a body of water near the road, he quickly jumped into it to wet his fur and then happily scampered back into line, proud of himself. 

“He is a little bear,” Oberyn once griped as the pup’s sharp teeth nipped at his leg when Oberyn had moved to help Y/N down from her horse. The pup seemed a little insistent on  
having Y/N’s attention at all hours and he only grew bolder as the distance from Sunspear grew shorter. Obara found her father’s frustration with the pup endlessly entertaining and would also lathe attention on the pup at any moment. She followed her father’s lead in calling him a little bear, much more affectionate in tone. And Y/N supposed the name just stuck. She called him her little river bear in High Valyrian, but settled on just calling him Gryves for short. 

As they crossed under the stone arches of Sunspear and the crowds cheered, little Gryves happily pranced next to Qelōs and snapped his jaws, catching the flower petals the people of Sunspear had thrown into the air in celebration of their return. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes were waiting on the steps of the fortress and Y/N dismounted before Qelōs even stopped and raced up the stairs. Tears were in Ellaria’s eyes as Y/N wrapped her in her arms and she could taste them as she pressed her lips to hers again in again in a fevered frenzy as an incandescent warmth bloomed in her chest at just the simple touch of Ellaria’s skin. And it took Ellaria holding her still, gentle hands on the side of her face, to realize she was crying, too. “No more tears, my Tully,” Ellaria whispered. “You are home.”

A happy shriek had them pulling apart to see Dorea and Loreza bowled over on the steps being licked by Gryves whose entire fluffy body was shaking with how quickly he was wagging his tail. 

Oberyn stepped to their side and kissed Ellaria soft and slow before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s smiling mouth. 

Yes. She was home.

**

Gryves huffed for the third time, disturbing her attempt at sleep. Or maybe the dog knew she couldn’t sleep and was sharing in her plight. Y/N gave up after she heard him huff again and slipped out from under her blankets and padded over to her balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over her as she pulled the doors open. Gryves’ nails tapped against the stone beside her and they both walked to the railing, looking out over the still-bustling fortress.

Her wedding was tomorrow. Her dress was carefully hung and her maiden’s cloak alongside it. Daisy had been bouncing in each step in the last week, happy to have her friend back safely and to “finally see you married to your prince, my lady!” Daisy and Daemon’s own ceremony would be held the following day. People were buzzing about down below, readying for the festivities. While the ceremony would be small, Doran insisted on letting them have every finery they wanted. Y/N did not care if she had to marry in a threadbare sack and in bare feet and they only had blood oranges for their wedding dinner—she simply wanted to be married.

Gryves placed his front paws on the railing and looked out over the small crowd, too. He let out a soft ‘boof’ as he watched. He was still growing, his head now coming to her waist but he was still as playful as ever—and patient. Loreza had fashioned him a hat that looked peculiarly like an otter and he let the girl set it on his head and sat still long enough for the girls to coo over him before getting distracted by a gull he promptly chased into the sea. He was doted on by almost everyone who resided in or worked around Sunspear. (Oberyn was still trying to find a way to get the dog to like him and stop nipping at his leg whenever he tried to kiss Y/N.) Sarella was home (“For only a moment!” she insisted.) from the Citadel and the Sand Snakes were all together again and Y/N found them all to be wondrous company. Daisy and Daemon were still steadfastly in love, perhaps even more so that Daemon had returned unharmed. All of it was so idyllic. So perfect. And for a moment, Y/N once again wondered if the world was about to crash around her—but she quickly dismissed the thought and she thought of Ellaria telling her that happiness does not have limits and that she had the ability to choose every joy and happiness that was placed at her feet. And Y/N wanted to seize every last opportunity. 

A knock at her door had her turning and Gryves kept to her side as she walked back into her rooms to open the door. Ellaria was on the other side with a soft smile and Gryves darted around her and into the darkened halls, probably in search of Loreza or Dorea. Y/N stepped back to let Ellaria in and softly shut the door behind her. Before Y/N could ask what she was doing, Ellaria had grasped at her face and pushed her lips to hers, easily delving into Y/N’s surprised mouth to lick and explore. Y/N faltered for a moment before letting her hands slide around Ellaria’s waist, bunching the silky fabric of her dressing robe between her fingers. Ellaria pulled away for a moment to press soft, wet kisses against Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, humming as she felt the thrumming pulse beneath the skin. 

“I knew you would not be sleeping, my Tully.” Another kiss to Y/N’s panting mouth. “And I will have to call you something else after tomorrow, won’t I?” Ellaria’s laugh was light and her fingers started to trail up and down Y/N’s arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. 

“You can call me whatever you desire,” Y/N said, tone breathy. 

“And if I simply wanted to call you mine?” 

“I am already yours.” Y/N leaned forward to press her forehead against Ellaria’s as her hands gently grasped Ellaria’s hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around her wrist. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered the vow against Ellaria’s lips. It was no Sept. There was not a Septon in sight nor any other trappings of the ceremony. But Y/N meant the vow as seriously as she would tomorrow with Oberyn. 

And then Ellaria was kissing her again, tightening her grip on her wrists like she wanted to brand her touch to Y/N’s skin. “I am yours and you are mine.” Ellaria then dragged Y/N forward and spun her around before pressing a hand to her chest and pushing. Y/N didn’t even realize they had come so close to the bed until she fell onto it with a laugh, greedily grabbing at Ellaria’s legs as she climbed over her and stole another kiss against her smiling mouth. “You need to sleep, yes? I have two options for you.” 

“Oh?” 

Ellaria nodded and trailed her lips across Y/N’s chin, nipping at her jaw, before sliding down her neck again and letting her tongue dip into the notch between Y/N’s collarbones. “I can have you brought tea. Or…” 

“Or…” Y/N played along, letting her hands slide up from Ellaria’s legs to her hips but her grip stuttered when Ellaria’s mouth suddenly pressed over her chest, tongue finding her nipple even through the cloth and teasing it to a hardened peak. When she was satisfied with one, she quickly did the same to the other. 

“Or I can tire you out myself,” Ellaria said, situating herself with ease so she could lay her cheek against Y/N’s chest, undoubtedly listening to her fluttering heart. “Which would you prefer, my Tully?” 

“You. Always you.” 

Ellaria’s smile was bright even in the dark of the room as she sat straight and shuffled down the bed while signaling for Y/N to center herself in the blankets. She gracefully stretched out beside her slowly pushed the edge of Y/N’s chemise up, up, up until it exposed her lace-edged small clothes. “You’re always so pretty for me,” Ellaria mused before her fingers trailed over the front of them, already coaxing a moan from Y/N’s lips. “It has been too long since I’ve been able to touch you like this. You are never to leave us like that again.” She leaned down to kiss Y/N’s lips again, licking into her mouth. “Swear to me.” 

“I swear it,” Y/N said, last word a breathless gasp as Ellaria’s talented fingers slipped beneath her small clothes and found her heat, ready and wet for her. Y/N had not even realized she had become so wet, only able to focus on Ellaria.

“Good.” Ellaria dragged the damp small clothes and dropped them to the floor. “So pretty,” Ellaria whispered as her fingers started to push through Y/N’s folds, gathering her slick before trailing up to her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have Y/N’s hips lifting from the featherbed. Again and again, Ellaria would push through Y/N’s folds, barely dipping into where she needed her most, as she pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses against Y/N’s panting lips. 

“Please,” Y/N near-pleaded. “Please.” 

“And always so polite.” And then finally—finally—Ellaria curled her fingers into Y/N’s pussy in one single motion and delighted in Y/N’s high pitched whine and how the younger woman fisted her hands in the silk sheets at her sides. Ellaria leaned up just enough to seal her mouth over Y/N’s, all teeth and tongue and heavy, warm breaths as her fingers started to move, dragging in and out even as Y/N’s fluttering walls tried to pull them tight. 

The familiar coil was starting to grow and unravel at an embarrassing rate and Y/N heard herself nearly wailing as it snapped and that delicious wave of pleasure washed over her.< / p>

But Ellaria did not stop. Her fingers continued to curl inside her, Ellaria’s other hand pressed down against Y/N’s belly and pinned her to the bed. Y/N cried out at the burst of pressure she felt bloom and the coil started to wind itself again, now with an unfamiliar bite and sting that sang with each movement of Ellaria’s fingers.

“Oh please,” she said, words choked in her throat. She reached out to grasp at Ellaria’s wrist, pushing her further, letting her fingers brush against the spot only she and Oberyn could reach. 

“That’s my good girl. Take what you need.” 

Even through her hazed mind, Y/N keened at the praise. She wanted to be a good girl.

Ellaria licked across her panting mouth and bit at Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, smirking the entire time. Y/N’s walls fluttered around her fingers and she pressed her thumb against her clit with enough pressure to have Y/N cry against her mouth. Slick soaked her hand but she did not cease her movements, pushing her fingers into her until her hips pressed up against her grip and Y/N’s fingers clawed at her shoulders. 

“El-Ellaria I-”

But she pressed her down to the dampened blankets and smiled. “So beautiful,” she said. “Give me another. My good girl.” 

Her thighs shook, nearly clamping down over Ellaria’s arm as wave after wave of terrible pleasure wracked her body. The room blurred as her arms slid down Ellaria’s back to pull her close as if she were not the one inflicting this delicious torture. The sounds that came from Y/N as her fingers continued to move could only be described as lewd. Wet and frenzied. 

“Give it to me,” Ellaria said, steady and low against her heated skin. 

Y/N cried out as another jolt of blinding pleasure shot through her, hips finally lifting from the featherbed as her vision went white. Her heart continued to roar in her ears. Ellaria’s fingers slowed their assault before pulling out, leaving Y/N feeling empty and spent even as her body shivered with residual tremors. Ellaria’s glistening fingers dipped between her kiss-bitten lips and her tongue twisted and slid to gather everything she could. When she was finished, she shuffled down Y/N’s body to press a kiss against her wet cunt and Y/N let out a broken moan. Her dark eyes sparkled when she looked up at her. “One more.” She licked a broad stripe up from her hole to her clit and Y/N keened, nerves alight and near painful. But the long strokes of Ellaria’s tongue continued, broken up by little kitten licks against her clit or dipping into her hole. Every flick of Ellaria’s glorious tongue brought Y/N closer to the precipice but it came sooner than either of them anticipated, dribbling out of her with a broken sort of cry and a new puddle between her thighs. With a final kiss, Ellaria rose and walked to the vanity near the open balcony and pulled a golden cloth from its pile before dipping it into the small basin of water Daisy had left for Y/N to wash her face earlier. She slid onto the bed again and wiped between Y/N’s still shaking thighs with a gentle touch, delighting when she shivered. “Are you all right?” Ellaria asked as her tongue peeked from between her lips out to clean the shining mess from around mouth.

Y/N sighed with a tired smile. “I am perfect.” She reached out toward Ellaria’s soft skirts and felt the silk slide between her fingers. “But I would like to please you, too.” 

Ellaria smiled and dropped the damp fabric to the floor. “Are you sure?” 

“I am. But I hope you do not mind guiding me.”

Ellaria slipped back onto the bed and her knees bracketed Y/N’s thighs as the younger woman gently pulled the skirt up to reveal Ellaria’s uncovered mound, shining in the candlelight. Y/N’s hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging Ellaria up toward her face. Ellaria had taught her many things, one of them being how to give her pleasure with just her fingers and Y/N had delighted in the taste of her love. But, in truth, Y/N had been fascinated by watching Oberyn make Ellaria cum with his wicked tongue. She wanted a taste from the source, too.

“By the gods, you are perfect,” Ellaria murmured holding her skirts higher so she could look to see Y/N’s face between her legs. She reached down to curl her hand around the back of Y/N’s head, pulling her up to meet the crux of her thighs. 

Y/N quickly licked a short but firm stripe from Ellaria’s hole to her clit, earning a soft sigh in return. The bitterly sweet taste of Ellaria was heavenly and Y/N quickly, selfishly, licked again and then wiggled her tongue against Ellaria’s hole, trying to collect as much as she could. 

“That’s it.” Ellaria’s grip tightened on her head and Y/N licked again and again before taking a chance and pulling her clit into her mouth and sucking. They both sunk into the pillows. 

Y/N reached up and around to grasp at Ellaria’s hips as her licks grew bolder, encouraged by Ellaria’s moans. They grew louder as her tongue started to delve and lick and press. Ellaria would sometimes murmur instructions, “to the left” “right there” “a little harder, my darling” and Y/N followed each with wild abandon and squealed when Ellaria pressed down onto her mouth and moved her hips, grinding against her tongue.

“So good,” She panted. “So good.” 

Y/N ate her out in earnest, sloppy and spit sliding out of the corner of her lips between covetous licks. Ellaria could suffocate her like this easily—and Y/N would die happy. 

Exploring fingers slid down and Y/N simply pressed against the bundle of nerves and smiled when Ellaria wailed in response, head tilted back to press the sound into the sticky night air. Her hips moved faster. Y/N did all she could to keep up, to give Ellaria as much as she had given her. The hold on her head tightened and Ellaria suddenly stilled above her with a groan. The thighs on either side of Y/N’s head shook and the taste of Ellaria flooded her mouth. Y/N pulled her fingers away from her clit but gave a few final licks before Ellaria pushed off and then sat beside her on the pillows. 

Ellaria caught her breath with a laugh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “I cannot wait to teach you everything I know.” 

Ellaria kissed her again before Y/N rose and wet her own bit of cloth to wipe between Ellaria’s thighs. She lathed a kiss against each of Ellaria’s legs before pulling her skirts down again as she lounged on the featherbed. “I will be a dutiful student.” 

The laugh Ellaria let out was tired but joyful. And they spoke for a few more stolen moments, Ellaria constantly checking to make sure Y/N was not overworked or feeling strange as they shared slow kisses in the moonlight. “Will you be able to rest now?” Ellaria asked as Y/N yawned. 

“You have thoroughly exhausted me.” 

Ellaria’s smile grew and she kissed Y/N one more time before she slipped off the bed again. “Then I shall see you in the morning, Princess.” 

Y/N smiled at the sound of the title. “In the morning, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Just one chapter left. :)


	10. Adventure Awaits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my loves, we have (finally) made it to the end. Thank you for sticking with me through my break. I had some personal issues and family losses to deal with so I appreciate your patience. I hope you all like this last chapter. It is very, very self-indulgent but...I think these babies deserve a bit of a happy ending. Enjoy!

Y/N had always suspected that she would feel nervous on her wedding day. Either from dread or giddiness, she could never be sure—but she still expected some trepidation. But there was nothing except a gentle eagerness blooming in her heart as Daisy finished helping her ready for the ceremony. Her dress was a soft white silk and gossamer frock with little embellishment. But it swayed with each of her movements like the sea and made her feel beautiful. 

“You look every bit a princess,” Daisy said, tears in her eyes, as she finished fastening Y/N’s maiden’s cloak to her shoulders. “I cannot believe we have finally reached this day.” 

“It did take a few battles, did it not?” Y/N mused, happiness coloring her tone. “And you shall have your own happy day next moon. Finally. Daemon is the most patient of men.” 

Daisy laughed. “We have found ourselves some bit of happiness here in Dorne. Have we not, my lady?”

**

Y/N could barely keep the smile from hurting her face as she heard the soft music coming from inside the sept. Two servants were smiling broadly at her, waiting to pull open the doors. With one last adjustment to the maiden cloak on her shoulders, Y/N nodded and they opened the great doors with a flourish.

The Sept was filled with Martells and the Sand Snakes and the Ullers, and a handful of other lords and ladies, all of them smiling, all of them happy. Y/N stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, and had to bite back a giddy laugh when she spotted Oberyn at the end of the aisle. He was dressed in his finery; cream-colored silk and brocade with silver and gold thread, emblazoned with spear-pierced suns that glittered in the candlelight. A wash of yellow and red fabric was carefully placed over his arm. Ellaria was standing closest to him, even closer than the Septon, dressed in a daffodil dress with golden chains draped over her shoulders and chest. They were beautiful. 

Y/N continued forward and spotted Loreza frantically waving as she held onto Gryves’ collar, his tail wagging furiously and rucking up the hem of Loreza’s pretty dress. But Y/N waved back, earning a happy bark from Gryves. 

Ellaria stepped forward before Y/N reached the end and wrapped an arm around Y/N’s, leading her the last few feet to Oberyn’s side before gently taking Y/N’s hand and placing it in Oberyn’s outstretched palm. She pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before letting Oberyn turn them toward the Septon. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” the Septon said with a soft smile. 

Oberyn’s warm hands slipped up Y/N’s arms to undo the fastenings of her maiden’s cloak and handed it over to a smiling Trystane as he finished before he unfurled the cloak in his arms and he cloaked her in his family’s colors, two golden suns now sitting on her shoulders. He smiled at her and Y/N once again had to will herself into quietude, wanting to shout her joy for all to hear.

“My lords, my ladies,” the septon started, “we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Oberyn grasped her right hand and kissed her fingers before holding their joined hands out to the septon to tie a red silk ribbon around their wrists. 

“Let it be known that Y/N of House Tully, and Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” The septon thrust out his hands. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He then carefully undid the simple knot he had tied with a smile and told them to face each other and Oberyn greedily grasped her other hand in his and squeezed her fingers affectionately. “Repeat these words; Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger...”

Y/N and Oberyn did, saying the words almost a bit too quickly if the Septon’s quiet tutting was any indication.

But they could not be stopped. Oberyn pushed forward, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” 

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Y/N said her part and felt her heart flutter like humming bird’s wings within the confines of her ribs. 

Pleased, the septon nodded. 

That was all the permission Oberyn needed before he grasped at Y/N’s face. Softly, and just for her to hear, he whispered, “with this kiss, I pledge my love.” 

And then he kissed her, smiling against her mouth as the crowd clapped and cheered. He gently grasped her hand in his again as they walked out of the sept and into the sunlight.

**

The feast was held in Sunspear’s great hall, and it was filled with raucous conversation, beautiful music, and her favorite company. Oberyn had convinced Doran to let the rest of the servants partake in the festivities so the hall was alive with some beautiful revelry.

Gifts were stacked high on the back wall and Y/N was sure they were all lovely but all she could do was revel in how Oberyn was quick to move her around the floor with all the grace of prowling panther and he nearly devoured her with hungry kisses that left her gasping and uncaring of the audience. “My wife, my moonlight.”

“My husband,” Y/N replied, smile wide. But then her gaze was caught by Ellaria’s approaching form and they both held out a hand for her. 

Ellaria matched their smile and readily put her hands in theirs, letting herself be pulled close and the three of them swayed to the music—together. As it should be, as it always should have been. The next song came and went before Loreza and Dorea were begging their father for a dance which he quickly obliged after excusing himself from Y/N and Ellaria’s side with a kiss to each of their mouths. Y/N and Ellaria continued to dance and Y/N reveled in Ellaria’s soft hands as they held her close. 

“You are finally ours, my love,” Ellaria whispered in her ear. 

“I have always been yours,” Y/N responded, breathing in Ellaria’s expensive citrus and floral perfume in a heady breath. 

Ellaria hummed and pulled her a little closer as the song started to reach its crescendo. “Yes, you have. But now the whole of the Seven Kingdoms will know.” 

Y/N laughed and pressed her lips to hers, to absolutely no one’s surprise. 

She could finally be free here—to love who she loved, to be who she was always meant to be.

**

The gifts had been opened and carefully put away by a tittering Daisy who then all but skipped out of the room just in time for Oberyn and Ellaria to drag Y/N into the softly lit room, candles casting deep shadows on the walls.

Cheers and music were still filtering into the room. 

The three had foregone the calls for a traditional bedding—being carried away by a group of men and stripped of her clothing was not something she wanted and everyone knew better than to ever touch Oberyn’s wife or paramour. The fact that Y/N now had a bloody reputation might have stayed their hand, too.

But none of that mattered now. Ellaria was pressing kisses to her neck and tugging at the lacings of her soft dress as Oberyn was bodily dragging them both toward the bed. And just as he heaved them onto the silken blankets—there was a knock at the door. 

“Papa!” Came the little voice on the other side. 

Oberyn pulled back, lips leaving from their place just above Y/N’s chest, to look at the door. 

And the knock came again. “Papa!” It was Loreza, sniffling and huffing with tears—Y/N could hear them through the door.

Oberyn sighed and righted his tunic before winking. “I shall be back soon, my loves.” He then quickly left, the sound of Oberyn’s calming voice trailing and fading as they walked down the hall. 

“Nightmares again?” Y/N asked, pushing herself further into the pillows as Ellaria shifted on the bed to swing a leg over Y/N’s hips and settle over her stomach. 

Ellaria nodded and then bent to press a kiss against Y/N’s lips, letting her tongue curl around hers and taste the tart Dornish wine they had all imbibed throughout the feast—probably to excess. “But you will soon have to chase away nightmares, too.” Her warm hands started to grab at the loosened bodice of Y/N’s dress and dragged it down her arms, exposing her breasts to the cooled night air.

“Oh?” Y/N asked, hazing mind trying to keep up with Ellaria’s words and her hands. 

Ellaria nodded against her mouth, slipping her hand beneath the bundled fabric of Y/N’s wedding dress to trail her fingers against her stomach as the younger woman heaved with each breath. “Oh yes. Oberyn and I are going to make sure you are round with child. Another babe to fill these halls with love and laughter.” 

Y/N gasped, body heating for more than just one reason. Oh, she wanted. She wanted. She wanted. 

Ellaria somehow shucked Y/N’s gown past her hips and onto the stone floor as she kissed her again and had slipped her beautifully devious fingers into Y/N’s lacy smallclothes, finding her clit with a happy laugh as Y/N all but choked against her lips. 

Y/N fumbled with Ellaria’s dress, trying to push and pull it—she just needed it off. She needed to feel Ellaria’s warm skin under her hands. But Ellaria was, as always, a force to be reckoned with. She pushed Y/N down onto the bed after taking pity on the poor woman and sitting straight just long enough to rid herself of her pretty gown. And Y/N warred with herself, happy to have Ellaria bare in front of her but longing for Ellaria’s fingers to once again touch her.

“All ours for the night—and every night after that,” Ellaria hummed as leaned down against to press an open-mouthed kiss against Y/N’s shining lips. 

Y/N let her greedy hands slide across Ellaria’s warm skin to grab handfuls of her beautiful breasts, plucking at her hardened peaks in the way Ellaria liked and smiling when Ellaria whined. “Just as you are mine.” 

Ellaria hummed, pausing to gently cradle Y/N’s face with a soft, hungry look in her dark eyes that had Y/N’s heart fluttering even more. “Tonight is about you, my love. It may not be always pleasant but we will try our best to bring you pleasure.”

Y/N could only nod—but she whined when Ellaria slipped off to the side and reclined beside Y/N, inching her fingers down Y/N’s heaving chest and swirling her fingertips around one nipple and then the next before tapping at the pile of pillows a little further up the bed. 

“Come, my love.” 

Y/N scurried to do as she was bid and pressed herself into the pillows. She held out her hands for Ellaria to take but was only rewarded with Ellaria shaking her head with a smile and a lick to her lips as she pushed herself up onto one arm to lean over Y/N, boxing her in. Ellaria’s perfect lips dragged down her neck to her bare shoulder and the simple touch had Y/N gasping, wine continuing to fog her mind in a wonderful haze. 

“We have to get you ready. Get you wet enough that your body will take him deep.” Deft fingers plucked at the small bows at the sides of Y/N’s underclothes and Ellaria slowly pulled them away, making Y/N jump and shiver as the lace slid over her skin before Ellaria tossed them over her shoulder to join the growing pile of clothes on the stone floor. “You’re so pretty, so good. My good girl.” 

Y/N couldn’t stop herself then, tangling her fingers in Ellaria’s glorious hair and dragging her lips to hers and licking into her mouth, tasting more Dornish wine. But Y/N suddenly keened when Ellaria’s fingers found her slit again—circling, circling, circling and drawing a whine from the new bride. 

And it was so easy for Ellaria to coax Y/N to a breathless orgasm, her fingers tugging at Ellaria’s wrist as her hand continued to move, fingers continuing to plunder despite the slick soaking up to her wrist. 

“Good girl,” Ellaria purred. 

The coil that had just snapped continued to tighten again, now with a delicious bite. Ellaria’s movements were steady and continuous, again and again finding that place inside Y/N that had her gasping and whining—for more, for less—for everything. And just as she was sure the coil was going to bite and snap…Ellaria stopped. Y/N watched her head tilt toward the door. 

Oberyn was standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest and a wide smile on his face. “A wonderful sight to greet me, to be sure.” 

Ellaria turned just enough to lean on her elbow beside Y/N with a laugh of her own. “I am surprised you stopped to admire the view, my love.” She crooked a shining finger at Oberyn. “Come.” And then, Ellaria’s fingers slipped down Y/N’s stomach and cupped her mound for just a moment before using just two to spread Y/N’s lips to the cooled night air and Oberyn’s hungry gaze. “Isn’t she just so pretty, my love? Look how wet she is for us.” And then Ellaria pressed inside and curled her fingers, letting Y/N’s slick coat her skin as she twisted her wrist just so and had the younger woman writhing beside her again. But Ellaria quickly withdrew and held out her glistening fingers to Oberyn who greedily pulled them between his smiling lips to lick them clean, moaning at her taste. 

Y/N watched it all in a daze, wanting more of that pleasure—more of what only Oberyn and Ellaria could give her even if there was just a slight sting to it, her body still overstimulated. “Oh please,” she whined, hips lifting from the bed as she watched Oberyn’s wicked tongue drag across his bottom lip in search of just a bit more of her taste. 

“She is magnificent, as always. Even more so when I have you with us: my pair of perfect loves.” 

Y/N’s entire body warmed at the words. Her and Ellaria. Ellaria and Oberyn. This is how it was supposed to be—all of them together. But her thoughts quickly faded into syrup as Ellaria’s dexterous fingers once again curled inside and had her struggling against the arm Ellaria had suddenly slung across her stomach. And Y/N could feel Ellaria’s smirk as she pressed her mouth against the side of Y/N’s sweat-slick throat. “You’re almost there, my love. Almost ready to finally take your prince.” The wet sound of Ellaria’s fingers quickly grew louder and louder as Y/N felt the pleasurable coil start to tighten and tighten and tighten until Ellaria used her other hand to pet at her clit, fingers brushing against it over and over again until the coil snapped and Y/N wailed. 

She barely heard Ellaria’s praises and coos as she came back to herself, shaking in the other woman’s soft grip.

“You’re doing so well, my love. So well. I will never tire of seeing you take your pleasure from me. You sing so sweetly.” Ellaria’s lips caught hers in a brief kiss, tongue curling around hers before she sat straight. “Are you ready?” She asked.

Y/N nodded before her next breath pushed out of her lungs. She wanted this. She wanted all of it. 

Oberyn was quickly to divest himself of his robes and breeches as Ellaria continued to trail her fingers up and down, up and down across Y/N’s stomach. Y/N felt her heart catch in her throat again, watching as Oberyn’s heavy cock was revealed. She had seen it before, of course, but just as she still grew excited at the sight of Ellaria’s perfect breasts, he was something to wonder at, too. 

Oberyn slid onto the bed, long and strong legs bracketing Y/N’s knees as he smiled and leaned down just enough to kiss her, stealing her breath as his tongue plundered into her mouth.

His fingers briefly touched her folds, spreading her own wetness around and she watched as Oberyn’s smile widened and pride bloomed in her already warmed chest at the look in his honey-colored eyes. He shuffled closer, hands dragging up her thighs and pressing his thumbs into her hips to tease a squeal from her lips before he stole another kiss. 

Ellaria’s fingers once again spread her wide, pushing her apart to reveal all of her, and Oberyn took his cock and let it drag against her folds and Y/N let out a choked moan, feeling him nearly catch once and then twice. 

This was it. This was what she needed, the want burning in her bones like wildfire. “O-Oberyn, please…” 

“She begs so prettily, my love,” Ellaria mused, nipping at Y/N’s ear. “End her torment.” 

“Eager thing,” Oberyn chuckled, dark eyes burning into hers before dragging back down to her pussy and his ministrations finally stopped as the head of his cock, now shining with her, stilled, bracketed by Ellaria’s fingers. “Ready, my moonlight?” 

Y/N could only nod as Ellaria’s fingers, slick and warm, curled to circle her clit, sending pleasurable jolts up and down her spine. And then Oberyn was pushing, parting her velvety walls slowly and with a determined sort of care that had her eyes watering and a smile pressing at her gasping mouth despite the small pinch and burn of the stretch that grew the deeper he sank inside. They loved her. They loved her so much and it was all so overwhelming with how much they cared about her and her pleasure. Ellaria’s fingers on her clit were steady and unwavering as Oberyn gave small thrusts, sinking a little deeper each time, making Y/N’s walls flutter around his cock. 

Y/N closed her eyes as she felt the coil grow tighter and tighter, finally feeling her body clench around something thicker than her lovers’ fingers and a broken moan ripped its way out of her throat. 

She felt so full and beautiful and loved and she only opened her eyes when she felt Oberyn’s lips brush against her panting mouth. His eyes were sparkling despite his labored breathing and his warm hand slid across her stomach as he gave a final thrust and was finally, finally, finally fully seated inside. 

“Do you feel me, my moonlight? Right here?” 

Her hand pressed over his as she felt, rather than heard, Ellaria’s laugh as her quickly unraveling mind made her tongue lead in her mouth. “I do. I feel all of you.” 

Oberyn smiled and stole another kiss. “And you are well?”

And with a final curl of Ellaria’s fingers, the coil snapped and Y/N came, thighs shaking as a heady moan slipped through her spit-slick lips. She barely heard Oberyn’s answering groan as he felt her clamp down and her walls trembled. 

“You are going to unmake me,” Oberyn huffed as her mind started to clear. 

Her body continued to shake as he started to pull back, letting her feel each ridge and vein before slowly sliding back in. Her breath punched out of her each time he pushed deep and it always left her gasping, lungs burning.

“Her cunt feels like heaven, doesn’t it, my love?” Ellaria asked before sucking her shining fingers between her lips. 

“It does,” Oberyn said with another slow drag in and out. “But I will not spend myself until she cums again.” 

“I-I can’t,” Y/N said, her hand curling around Ellaria’s beautiful thigh. 

“You _will_ ,” Ellaria said, tone commanding. “With your prince’s cock in your cunt, you will cum.” 

But then her hands grasped at Y/N’s breasts and squeezed, rolling her hardened peaks between her fingers with an effortless ruthlessness that had Y/N arching her back, trying to give more to Ellaria to hold and grab. “I-I-” The words halted in her throat as she felt his lips find hers again, warm breath sliding against her face. 

Everything was just Oberyn and Ellaria—and everything was beautiful.

Shaking hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders, trying clumsily to drag him closer—she needed him closer for some reason she couldn’t explain. 

Oberyn and Ellaria showered her in praises as his thrusts continued to grow stronger; Y/N was their good girl, their love, their Moonlight, and she was taking him so well. And all of the lovely words were effecting her just as much as the delicious movement of Oberyn as he continued his deep and slow drag. 

And that familiar coil started to pull tight again, slower than the previous two but much, much more intense—something she could feel in her marrow. 

“O-Oh, please,” she begged, hands still scrambling for purchase against his slick back, against Ellaria’s wrists as her hand continued to move between her legs, darting from one to the other as her hips start to buck and press against Oberyn’s pistoning hips. 

And Oberyn let out a guttural moan at that, feeling how he would sink deeper each time she would meet his thrusts. Ellaria leaned over to lick into his open mouth and coach another moan from his throat. His hands grasped at her hips as his paced quickened, the drag and thrust lighting each of her nerves aflame as she continued to hurdle towards another orgasm. 

As the coil grew tighter, Y/N kept lifting and moving her hips, trying to match Oberyn’s movements, wanting to hear that sound again and knowing it was her who made him. And she was rewarded with his beautiful noises again and again and felt his grip tighten on her hips even as he never went too hard or too quick; still endlessly careful with her. 

“Touch her again,” Oberyn said, looking at Ellaria. “Help get her there.” 

Ellaria huffed a laugh at that but finally released her hold on Y/N’s chest to slide her fingers back down to simply press against Y/N’s hardened clit and making the other woman keen and wail. Y/N’s vision went white and all she could feel was a sharp pleasure spreading through her body. She collapsed, boneless, beside Ellaria who cooed her approval in sweet tones as she brushed a kiss against her temple.

Oberyn thrust twice more before sinking completely and let out guttural moan and Y/N felt warmth pool inside and she shivered, letting herself finally just feel—and come down from the high her loves had constantly maintained. 

She winced, only slightly, as Oberyn slowly pulled out. He leaned down to kiss her lips, each of her breasts, and then her stomach before he stood, sliding off the side of the rumpled bed. Y/N watched him walk over to the small table and dunk a bit of cloth into the waiting bowl of water. 

But Ellaria was soon sitting up with a click up her tongue. “Don’t waste it,” she said, fingers sliding through Y/N’s folds once more to gather Oberyn’s cum and press it back into Y/N’s pussy. “It belongs inside.” 

Y/N could only nod at Ellaria’s command and did not have the energy to jump when Oberyn took a dampened cloth to gently clean between her thighs, pressing a kiss to each of her legs as he did so. “You were perfect, my moonlight. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you and Ellaria in my bed.” 

Ellaria whispered her agreement against Y/N’s sweat-slicked temple before pressing a gentle kiss there, too, and Y/N could only smile in return—still boneless. But her mind turned as she looked at her husband and paramour. 

“I know that you both cannot be sated by simply one.” Y/N crooked a finger at Oberyn as he stood straight. “While I am indisposed for the moment, please do not stifle your urges. Our love,” she said, reaching out to Ellaria, “has been too much of a giver with me, I am ashamed to admit,” Y/N said, still trying to catch her breath as she smiled.

Ellaria chuckled. “I think our Princess wants a show.” 

Y/N watched Ellaria push herself to her knees and tug Oberyn into a kiss and the pair fell back onto the mussed blankets and pillows with a laugh. 

_Oh yes,_ Y/N thought as she watched them—slow hands and unhurried kisses of familiar lovers, there would be time when they could all three truly find pleasure together, but this was heaven for now.

**

“Raise your elbow—just a little higher,” Y/N said, standing behind Dorea at the training grounds.

Dorea huffed and but did as she was told. “Better?” 

“Yes—now loose.” 

The arrow flew through the air and managed to hit the target—a little more than off center. 

“You grow better every day, Dorea,” Y/N said as she clapped the young girl on the shoulder. “Soon you may best me!” 

Dorea squealed happily, the bow sliding from her grip before she turned and launched herself at Y/N, wrapping her surprisingly strong little arms around Y/N’s stomach in a tight squeeze. But soon the girl’s Septa appeared, the familiar look of resigned disappointment on her aged features for once again finding Dorea at the training grounds instead of at her lessons. Y/N quietly nudged her back toward the Septa as she fought a smile. She would not tell the disappointed woman that Loreza was currently running around with Gryves—they were still fond of splashing into the Sunset Sea despite the water growing colder with each passing day. 

Winter had been slow to reach Dorne. The heat remained throughout the day but the nights grew colder and colder. While Ellaria and Oberyn had taken to wrapping themselves in furs from the time the sun set and until it rose again, Y/N was content with just her blankets and Gryves would occasionally manage to wriggle his massive body between her and Oberyn during the night to keep her warm. Oberyn would always grumble in the morning—mentioning how the blankets were full of Gryves’ black fur or complaining about how Gryves would always manage to kick in his sleep and push his enormous paws into Oberyn’s stomach or back. Ellaria was always happy to find the large dog in the bed, ignoring Oberyn’s mutterings to scratch behind Gryves’ ears. 

Doran and Trystane had taken to the large dog, too. The two princes found Oberyn’s inability to truly befriend Gryves’ amusing and would “sneak” bits of food to him whenever they visited and Gryves had managed to hold Y/N and Ellaria’s attention for longer than a few heartbeats when Oberyn was telling a story of his adventures. 

Y/N found the strange power plays between her husband and faithful dog endlessly entertaining.

It was all so…idyllic. 

Ravens came and went from Dorne, even with Winter raging in the other six kingdoms. Sansa was seeing to the final stages of reconstruction to her ancestral home and was proving herself to be a very capable and shrewd Lady Stark according to the whispers that made their way down to Dorne. 

Doran always smiled when he heard them and Y/N knew there was a constant stream of ravens between the Water Gardens and Winterfell, the two keeping in contact like a doting father and favored daughter. 

A short letter came a few moons after her wedding in Arya’s tilted handwriting. _**Found Gendry. Going West.**_

“There you are, my moonlight!” 

She turned to see Oberyn bounding across the training grounds, still only dressed in his linen sleeping trousers and an open robe, rumpled from being hastily discarded the night before. The small group of guards also using the grounds glanced at Y/N with barely contained humor before they turned back to their swords and shields. 

It had only been a handful of months since the wedding and it seemed like everything and everyone had settled into a new sort of peace the Seven Kingdoms had not seen in centuries. Everything had been worth it. 

She would gladly do it all again if it meant she had this.

Oberyn swept her into his arms and lazily pressed his mouth to hers as she laughed. “It is too cold and too early to have you slip away from our bed.” He dragged his lips down her throat to nip at her skin. “I thought I had thoroughly exhausted you last night—Ellaria still slumbers.” 

Y/N chuckled and let him pull her a little closer before all but starting to drag her back into the fortress. In truth, she had been thoroughly exhausted last night—and many nights before that, too. The three had finally found the perfect way to touch and fuck and kiss without one needing to sidle themselves with simply watching (although, Y/N was always happy to do that). 

But the mornings always came too soon and for the past fortnight, she would wake just after dawn feel strange. Not ill. But unpleasantly warm and almost itchy within her skin. The only remedy she could find was a light breakfast and fresh air. She would walk with Gryves along the shore and happily let him splash and soak her skirts, or she would take him through the orange groves and let him chase the last few birds that had not yet left. He was a good and faithful hound. No matter how free she—or Dorea or Loreza—let him roam, he would always turn back every few paces to make sure they were still there. His cold nose would greet her every morning. Gryves was either snuggled up into her side or sneaking out of Loreza’s room when the sun rose each morning. Oberyn once grumbled that the dog seemed to always find a way to separate him and Y/N or him and Ellaria during the night with his giant, furry body and Oberyn would, more often than not, find himself with a mouth full of black fur or a giant paw pushing into his stomach. 

But Gryves had been acting strange. For the last handful of mornings, he did not barge ahead during their quiet walks but rather stuck to her side, his large head swiveling from side to side as if he were searching for something, guarding her. 

Y/N brushed it off as the pup still finding his footing in Winter. Some blossomed, others wilted. She knew he would blossom—first winters were always a bit tenuous. 

This was not the first Winter the Seven Kingdoms had weathered and it would not be the last. But it could be prosperous. Far more prosperous than the handful of years prior that had only seen war and death. 

Young Shireen Baratheon—the last Baratheon—had stabilized the Stormlands and held her family’s seat of Storm’s End with a firm grasp but was still beloved by the smallfolk of her kingdom. Robb had been glad to grant clemency to Shireen and name her heir of Storm’s End after she appeared before the Iron Throne with Ser Davos Seaworth at her back to swear fealty. 

The little lady who had survived Greyscale, the War of the Five Kings, and then fleeing into the wilderness of the North, had risen to become one of the most beloved and adored women of the Realm. 

And even more missives came from the capital. Robb had asked for Sarella to take the Dornish Seat on the Small Council, and asked Olenna to be the Master of Coin. The Realm was finding its footing under King Robb and Queen Margaery’s careful guidance.

The Lords of the Vale had sworn fealty to Robb after the Battle of King’s Landing and there might have been a raven or two arriving at the Red Keep before the envoy from the Vale arrived. The Vale, as Y/N remembered, still knew how to play the Game. Robb had quickly lopped Petyr Baelish’s head from his shoulders when he arrived at the Red Keep to offer his ‘services’ to the new King. 

Baelish’s betrayal of Eddard Stark had been, Y/N discovered, what Tyrion offered to Robb in exchange for his life. Tyrion learned of Baelish’s schemes and told Robb that his family still had an enemy high in the Mountains of the Vale. 

The Lords of the Vale had also been quick to tell the new king that Baelish was suspect of Lysa’s ‘unnatural’ death and Sweetrobin was now under the guidance of Royce, the regent Petyr had begrudgingly named before setting off toward King’s Landing. It was all very quick and messy and continued to solidify Robb’s reputation as a benevolent king with a savage streak. 

Y/N couldn’t be more proud of her cousin. 

But sometimes he still had the uncanny ability to still bother her like a brother.

Robb had sent a raven only yesterday to ask if Oberyn, Ellaria, and Y/N would be his envoy to Essos, to treat with the Dragon Queen to solidify trade routes and the like. It would be a large undertaking and immensely important as Robb wanted to be sure his new subjects were fed during the Winter that could potentially last years and to send a Dornish envoy was a sign of respect and gratitude—at in least Doran’s eyes who told Oberyn to accept the summons. 

Oberyn said he would sleep on it but Y/N knew he wanted to ask Ellaria her opinion before making a decision. Y/N had already told him it was his choice. She had made enough decisions that had impacted their family. 

Gryves nosed at her hip and she only then noticed that she had slowed to a stop with her toes just within the cold reach of the Summer Sea’s seafoam, soaking the edges of her dressing gown. The large dog whined.

“I’m okay,” Y/N said, scratching him behind his ears but he whined again and then gently bit at her dressing gown, tugging her back toward the fortress. Y/N scowled as she felt her stomach clench but tried to press a smile to her face as she walked by the small group of guards she, admittedly, didn’t remember passing earlier. Gryves also greeted them with a happy yip and received a few scritches behind his ears before quickly moving back to Y/N’s side as they moved closer to the fortress’ familiar shadows. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

She had only a moment to brace before Loreza’s tiny yet surprisingly solid body ran straight at her legs, wrapping her arms around her hips with a giggle. “You are up early, little one,” Y/N said, letting her hands curl around the girl’s shoulders as Gryves happily sniffed at the girl’s shoes in greeting.

“Papa said we’re going on an adventure!” She exclaimed as she jumped back, hopping in place in excitement.

“An adventure?” Y/N repeated with a smile, knowing exactly what Loreza was announcing—he made his decision, apparently. Oberyn had decided to take Robb’s assignment—and take along his daughters, too. Not that his decision was a surprise in any regard. There was no way he would leave his daughters behind again. 

“Across the Narrow Sea!” As Loreza continued to excitedly explain all the details of the ‘adventure,’ Y/N caught sight of Oberyn leaning against one of the marble pillars, smiling as his youngest looked up at her, nearly vibrating with joy. “Obella says the Dragon Queen is pretty—but she lets her dragons eat people!” 

Y/N bit her tongue for a moment before making a mental note to speak with Obella and maybe let her know that exaggerating the truth with Loreza might be entertaining, it was not a pastime to be encouraged when the little one had a wild imagination and was prone to nightmares already. “Her dragons are fond of goats, Loreza, and I know she keeps them well-fed. Obella is simply teasing you,” Y/N said, repeating the information she had managed to gather from a certain little lion who had managed to build a new life in Essos. Tyrion, it seemed, still had a soft spot for Y/N—and maybe learning that Jaime was alive, and at his side, because Y/N and Arya had King Robb’s ear might have given him a little more incentive to help her. 

Loreza’s bottom lip jutted out, as if a little upset that she was no longer in danger of being eaten, but then giggled as Gryves licked at her fingers, quietly demanding to be pet. “Do you think I’ll be able to see one?” 

“I am sure we will be able to see one if Her Grace wants to meet with us, little one,” Y/N said. 

Loreza nodded, already too engrossed in Gryves’ affections to truly listen to Y/N’s words. “I should like to see a dragon, you know.” 

Y/N was not sure if Loreza’s words were meant for her or Gryves but she hummed in acknowledgement and then settled into Oberyn’s warm embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist from the back and Loreza finally noticed her father and giggled up at him, still happily letting Gryves take most of her attention and affections. 

“You’re up early,” Y/N hummed, turning her head just enough to press a kiss to his sharp jaw. 

“Not as early as you, my moonlight,” he murmured, squeezing her around the middle. “And it seems my daughter has beat me to my grand reveal.” 

“Sorry, papa,” Loreza said, still focused on Gryves, not sorry at all.

Oberyn hummed and kissed Y/N’s neck. “What say you, wife? One more adventure?” 

Y/N watched Loreza scurry away with Gryves and let herself sink a little more into her husband’s hold. “I’ve always wanted to go to Essos.” 

Oberyn’s lips skirted across her pulse. “I want to take you to Pentos when we are finished with our business with the Dragon Queen. I want you to know where your mother came from, to know her as she knew you.” 

Tears Y/N didn’t know she had suddenly burned at the back of her eyes and she turned to press her forehead against his shoulder, grabbing fistfuls of his loose robes and breathing in the scent of him and blinked back the strange show of emotion. “You are a good man, Oberyn.”

His hold tightened. “Only for the ladies of my life.”

**

The sea did not agree with Y/N.

The constant swaying of the boat had her stomach rolling from the time she woke until lunch and Ellaria was always quick to press a cooled cloth to her cheeks and force a bit of juice into her stomach along with dry bread in an attempt to help while Oberyn was adamant she try to sleep as much as she could. Elia and Obara did tease Y/N at their nightly dinners on the polished deck—“you’re the sea-sick serpent,” was their favorite jape and never failed to make her smile. Tyene offered some sparkling, pink drink with a small smile and a quiet murmur that she wasn’t fond of traveling by sea either. The concoction tasted like honey and citrus and rolled her stomach for only a moment before granting Y/N a few hours reprieve each day they were aboard the large ship. Oberyn and Ellaria quickly made use of those few hours to sequester themselves in the dark cabin and let themselves indulge in carnal desires that Y/N was more than happy to partake in. Oberyn and Ellaria always left her panting and sated—and with a pillow under her hips and laughter on their lips. It was…wonderful in a beautifully chaotic way. They would talk in hushed whispers and quiet laughs until one of them—usually Y/N—fell asleep.

While the company was good, Y/N was thankful that Queen Daenerys had been willing to meet them in Myr instead of her usual seat of power of Mereen in Dragon’s Bay. It took several weeks off their travel time and Y/N was much too pleased to step out onto the wooden boards of the gangplank and she felt something solid under her feet for the first time since they had departed from Sunspear. 

A large group was waiting at the docks, bedecked in white and purple silks with black leathers and a three-headed dragon pin over their hearts. 

“Welcome to the Stormborn Empire,” a man said with a tip of his head. “Queen Daenerys has asked that you follow us to the palace.” 

Ellaria stepped to her side and linked their arms together with a smile as Oberyn dealt with the emissaries with his usual bravado with Sallera at his side and Obara at his back. “Another adventure, hm?” Ellaria murmured. 

“Yes,” Y/N said, feeling a touch of excitement in her stomach instead of sea sickness. “Let’s make the most of it.”

Myr was a city of science and art and the markets they moved through glittered with finery and Y/N tried to make a note of the stalls she wanted to peruse if they ever had a chance to leave the palace between meetings with the Queen. Nymeria was already haggling with a merchant over a filigreed dagger with a pearl-encrusted hilt. The air was crisp with the scent of the sea, foreign spices, and expensive perfumes and Y/N breathed it in, tilting her head back to feel the sun’s warmth on her face for the first time in this strange land. 

But a shadow passed across the sun and had Y/N blinking in confusion toward the sky. She was dreaming—she was sure of it. A large black dragon nearly blotted out the sun with its massive wingspan, only needing to flap its wings once to stay airborne as it continued toward the gleaming white-stone palace a few paces north. 

A dragon. A real dragon.

Y/N listened to Loreza nearly screech with excitement as Dorea and Obella gasped.

“She has three, does she not?” Ellaria said, also looking up. “I wonder what other marvels this land will hold for us.”

**

Daisy was still glowing; the smile she had at her wedding ceremony seemed now to be a permanent fixture on her face. Daemon seemed to be a bit lighter on his feet, too. He and Daisy were now Lord and Lady Sandstar, having been given the title and prestige of a House of Landed Knights and ‘legitimized’ name as a wedding gift from a grateful House Martell and the reigning king and queen of Westeros. A small keep outside the Shadow City was also given but the newlyweds still spent most of their time within Sunspear’s walls but both had accompanied the Martells to Myr.

“I have never been further east than Sunspear, Princess,” she said as she helped Y/N unpack their trunks despite Y/N her (repeatedly) it was not her duty any longer. “This is quite the adventure.” 

A stern-looking older man had welcomed them into the “small” palace made entirely of white marble and sand-colored stone and said Queen Daenerys offered them grand apartments as they discussed trade agreements the following day. The man apologized on behalf of his queen, stating that Daenerys and her consort were away settling a small dispute within their large khalasar outside the city walls but would return by morning. 

No one seemed to mind, happy to explore Myr and all its treasures for the rest of the day instead of having to collect themselves for hours-long discussions about trade and alliances. 

The rooms they had been given were filled with velvet-lined pillows and cushions and fine silks and linens in an array of muted greens and soft tans. A sapphire blue pool was on the terrace and it sparkled in the sunlight while a looming persimmon tree provided a small bit of shade. 

“I daresay I enjoy this sort of adventure much more than the ones we are accustomed to back in King’s Landing, no?” Y/N said with a small laugh. 

Most everyone else had absconded to the city to find their own escapades before supper. Y/N promised Ellaria she would meet her and the little ones at the bazaar as soon as she was finished unpacking. Obara and Elia had tried to get Y/N to come to the training grounds to watch the famed Unsullied spar but had managed to agree to accompany them in the morning as a happy medium. Oberyn promised to show his older daughters where he spent his time in Myr when he was with the Second Sons but would meet everyone in the bazaar before sundown.

Daisy laughed and finished with the last trunk before linking her arm with Y/N’s, and leading her out of the pleasantly quiet castle and into the Myrish sunlight. And the day was pleasant. Ellaria and the girls were easily spotted and had filled their arms with fresh breads and fine linens—and even a few small dragon sculptures Dorea was particularly fond of. 

“It is good to see you well again,” Daisy said as they looked over a stall of tapestries while they waited for Ellaria to help Obella haggle for a bracelet of hammered copper. “For a moment, I thought you were…” her eyes flittered around, as if trying to find some hidden threat until Y/N reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “I thought you might be truly ill. Your Prince was fretting the entire time, you know. Nearly scolded the captain every time a wave jostled the boat too much for his liking. He is still very much the Viper.” 

Y/N simply smiled and shook her head. “He and Ellaria are too good to me.” 

“They treat you as you deserve, Princess. Just as you treat them. They will sing songs of your love in the years to come, I know it.” 

Ellaria turned and held up a bolt of yellow lace with a smile and a wink in Y/N’s direction and Y/N had to laugh, remembering the yellow dress that had essentially started it all.

Something hit her nose—something acrid and curdled and Y/N had to hurriedly press a hand over her mouth to keep herself from spewing the contents of her stomach across the stone walkway. 

“Princess?” 

Y/N waved away Daisy’s concern and tried to pull in a steadying breath as she screwed her eyes shut as if that would stop the rolling of her stomach. And then as soon as it came, it passed. “I am fine, Daisy. My stomach is still acclimating to solid ground, it seems.” Daisy seemed unconvinced but nodded as Y/N tried to smile again. She spotted Oberyn with his older daughters, slowly making their way toward Ellaria and the little ones. All of them were cast in the dying, golden light of the day, making them look like some beautiful, moving painting that should be hung in the halls of a palace or sept for all to see. 

This was her family. 

Y/N pulled in a breath and waved as Dorea proudly held another tiny Morningstar above her head, victorious. While she had forgotten her beloved weapon at home (and had pouted about it for nearly the entire first day aboard the ship), it seemed Dorea had found a suitable replacement. 

Hopefully she wouldn’t break anything in Queen Daenerys’ palace before the trade agreements were completed. 

Oberyn’s beautiful brown eyes tracked across the crowded walkway before landing on her. A familiar smile pushed up his plush lips and Y/N found herself mirroring his grin even as an odd sensation started to pull at the back of her mind. Oberyn’s smile died and he was shoving his way through the crowd as the world suddenly went dark.

**

Y/N woke with a start, barely registering the unfamiliar bed before she emptied her stomach into a brass pot on the floor. Ellaria was at her side in a moment, rubbing soothing circle into her back as her stomach continued to roll.

Oberyn stepped into her line of vision with a glass of deep purple juice that smelled of something sweet. Y/N took the glass and drank it without preamble to rid her mouth of the taste of bile. 

“I thought we were done surprising each other, my moonlight,” he said softly, his hand joining Ellaria’s on her back. 

“What happened?” 

“You fainted,” Ellaria said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Nearly opened your skull on the stone if not for Daisy’s quick hands to steady you.” 

“I thought sea-sickness would have stopped after we docked.” Her poor attempt at a joke only made Oberyn sigh, a small smile now starting to pull at the corners of his mouth. 

“You are not sick,” he said. 

“Oh?” Confusion washed over her as Oberyn took the empty glass from her hands as a servant dealt with the brass pot. Ellaria moved to sit beside her on the bed as Oberyn mirrored her action, boxing Y/N in with their familiar warmth. 

“You are with child, my love.” Her hands settled against Y/N’s stomach with a smile. “A prince or princess of Dorne grows just here.”

Oberyn nuzzled into Y/N’s neck and the smile she felt against her pulse had her laughing. 

“A baby? Are you certain?” 

Ellaria nodded with tears glistening in her eyes and Y/N placed her hands over hers and squeezed. “Queen Daenerys’ own healer saw to you after we brought you here. He confirmed it. You will be due in a handful of moons.” 

Tears filled her eyes and she let out a watery laugh, her hands continuing to squeeze Ellaria’s. “A baby. We certainly wasted no time.” 

Oberyn and Ellaria laughed at that, earning her a pair of kisses to her cheeks before Ellaria gently brushed her tears away. “No tears, my love. Only joy. And you must promise to tell us if you are feeling ill. We cannot have you fainting again.” 

“I promise.” 

The three spoke for a little longer, in soft tones about the future and how she will look “wondrous, ethereal, when you start to show, my moonlight” and how loved the babe already was by all of them. 

But then a silly, almost childish thought crossed her mind. “Will you still take me to Pentos?” 

Oberyn leaned in to press his smiling mouth against her forehead. “I will take you anywhere you desire, my moonlight. You are giving us a most precious gift; I will give you anything you desire.”

**

The Dragon Queen was a petite woman with the same look as her ancestors—silver hair and purple eyes. At her back stood Gaelor, a tall man with the same Valyrian characteristics and his mouth set in a firm line. Her consort, some nobleman of the Blood of Old Valyria and a man of few words except to make his wife smile if the whispers she’d heard were true.

Y/N was almost giddy to be able to speak in her mother’s tongue and to speak with Daenerys in hers. Bastard and High Valyrian were much easier for her mouth anyway, and she loved that she could finally find a way to tease Oberyn and Ellaria in her own way. Both of them knew enough High Valyrian to understand most of what she was saying—and paid back in kind with heated kisses in shadowed corners between meetings with Daenerys and her advisors—which seemed to go swimmingly, if Y/N had anything to say about it. Oberyn and Sarella were master negotiators and Ellaria was always quick to offer a kind smile and differing opinion when tensions ran a bit too high with a handful of the Dragon Queen’s advisors and kept the conversation flowing. 

When they adjourned the meeting for the third day and she did not have any other set plans, Y/N found herself mostly drawn to Queen Daenerys’ Hand, a woman with delicate features and beautiful eyes named Missandei. Y/N asked her to share a bit of time and tea with her if she was amiable—and she was, much to Y/N’s relief. Within only a handful of hours, Y/N found Missandei to be perhaps the most intelligent and compassionate person she had ever met. Listening to her speak of Daenerys’ campaign across Essos, building her empire from the Bone Mountains to the shores of the Narrow Sea (leaving on Braavos out from under her rule, knowing the Braavosi had had their fair share of Valyrian overlords), had taken most of the day and into the night and the discussion turned from political machinations to how they both found homes in foreign lands—there was something so beautifully enrapturing about her and Y/N did not miss how Missandei’s gentle eyes would sparkle whenever Grey Worm, Daenerys’ most trusted sword (aside from the former Kingsguard Knight Ser Barristan), would step into the room to whisper something or other into a different guard’s ear as the rotation continued. 

“I have kept you from each other in my selfish desire to hear your stories, Lady Missandei. I apologize. Please, take your leave. I did not mean to keep you so long.” 

Missandei shook her head. “It was a welcome reprieve from court, Princess. I truly did not mind.” 

The door opened again and Y/N let her smile break across her face as Grey Worm once again entered the room. “You may not have minded, but I would be so bold to assume that there is someone who might require your presence more than I do.” Y/N gestured toward Grey Worm who was whispering into the out-going guard but his kind, dark eyes would ever so briefly flitter to Missandei. 

The royal adviser smiled and shook her head but she did not deny it. 

“Our conversation has been a joy but I will never keep you from someone who makes you smile like that,” Y/N said as she reached out to gently squeeze her hands. “I will see you in the morn.” 

Missandei nodded and they whispered their goodnights before Grey Worm stepped to their side and held out a hand for Missandei to take, gently helping her up from her seat.

Y/N eventually found her way back to her rooms and undressed before sliding under the blankets to press against Oberyn’s warm back and kiss his shoulder as he reached back to grab one of her hands and kiss her fingers before holding her hand over his heart. “Goodnight, my moonlight.”

**

On the last day of their Myrish political adventure, Y/N found herself once again waking before her pair of loves and quietly snuck out of her rooms to wander the palace’s halls as her stomach rolled lightly but the fresh air settled it for the most part. She smiled at a few of the quietly moving servants who were preparing for the day in the inky blue light of dawn and managed to find the kitchens and was readily given a small bowl of berries and a cup of juice by an older cook with a gentle smile who spoke softly to Y/N in Valyrian as she kneaded dough for the day. Y/N eventually excused herself as the kitchens grew more and more crowded with people arriving for their duties and she wandered out toward one of the balconies that looked out over the heart of the city.

There was a thunderous roar overhead just as she settled into a lacquered chair and Y/N watched Drogon soar over the city, in awe of the beautiful creature. 

Daenerys had been kind enough to indulge Y/N the day before and walked with her out to where her three sons were nesting and gently coaxed Drogon out before letting Y/N feel the strangely warm and shining black scales beneath her palm. The large dragon huffed and pressed his large snout against her belly. 

_“They can tell when you are with child,” Daenerys said with a smile, letting her dainty hand run up and down her favorite dragon’s neck. “They become very protective. If you had stayed any longer, I would have to worry that he would not let you leave.”_

And, as strange as it seemed, it reminded Y/N of Gryves. He must have sensed the change before even she did—and that is why he had been so careful around her before they had left Sunspear. She knew he was in good company at the Water Gardens with Doran and Trystane, probably getting fed fine steak every night. 

“Hello,” a soft voice said, gaining Y/N’s attention. 

Y/N turned and spotted a young girl, no older than three and a mirror image of her mother with silver-gold hair—mussed and tangled with sleep—and amethyst-colored eyes. “Hello, princess.” While Daenerys had kept her daughter mostly away from the meetings, the little girl had been known to flit in and out of the room to sit on her parents’ laps and nap whenever she felt like it. 

“May I have a berry?” Her little hand was already raised to pluck one from the bowl. 

“Of course,” Y/N said, letting her take a juicy red berry from the pile. “You are up early.” 

The girl nodded and happily popped the berry between her lips and chewed. “I heard mother’s dragons. They wake me up almost every day.” She sighed loudly and then invited herself onto Y/N’s lap before taking another berry. “Mother said I will be able to fly one, one day.” 

“I’m sure you will, Princess,” Y/N said with a smile. 

The pair spoke for a little longer—mostly about how the little princess hoped Rhaegal would be her dragon as the sun continued to rise and make Myr start to glitter—before there was a soft sound of sandaled feet on stone met her ears. Y/N turned to see the Dragon Queen walking in, a soft smile on her face as she spotted her daughter in Y/N’s arms. 

“Rhaella,” Daenerys sang out the name, stretching out her arms and letting the small child run into her hold after she wiggled off Y/N’s lap. “She was not bothering you, I hope.” 

Y/N stood and shook her head. “Of course not. We were simply enjoying some berries together and watching the sun rise.” Y/N held out the bowl of berries and let Rhaella take another, a bit of purple juice running down her chin before her mother wiped it away and kissed her cheek. 

Y/N briefly wondered if her child would look more like her or Oberyn; would she have quiet mornings like this once they were born? Watching the sun rise over the Summer Sea and eating berries in the quiet morning air? 

“Will you join us for breakfast? If you have not had your fill of berries?”

**

The final discussion about the trade agreements was supposed to simply formalities and signing of the written treaties but had devolved into another argument between Daenerys’ advisors and Oberyn who differed on how each side would keep to their agreements.

“There must be some sort of tie, a true bond, make sure they keep their side of the agreement when Winter comes to Essos. If Prince Oberyn had any sons, they might make a suitable consort to Princess Rhaella. Or if he had thought to consult his king, we might have avoided this diatribe entirely—how can they be a true envoy for Westeros if they are not even sure if King Robb and Queen Margaery have heirs to be used as-”

Daenerys waved her hand and effectively halted any other words her advisor might have said on the subject. “Children will not be used as pawns.” 

And Y/N let out a breath she did not know she was holding and Oberyn curled his fingers over her thigh for comfort. “A welcome reprieve from the usual trappings, Your Grace. Thank you.” 

But Y/N’s gaze flittered over to the advisor whose pasty white skin was growing redder with each passing moment. And perhaps Y/N would blame her sudden anger on her constantly rolling emotions, but she simply had never liked the pale-faced advisor and his constant sneering at Oberyn, Ellaria, and their daughters and she had reached a breaking point. “Forgive me, but it seems not all present share your sentiment. Do you have more to say? It would seem you think you are the one we are to be negotiating with, instead of Her Grace.” 

Sarella nudged her foot under the table, trying to fight a smile. 

Daenerys, for the first time since they had arrived on Essos, looked like the battle-hardened conqueror the world knew her to be as she dragged her violet-colored gaze to her advisor, tiny hand nearly snapping the quill in her grasp. “You have embarrassed me and yourself enough,” she hissed in Valyrian. “You are only here as an act of goodwill toward Qarth who has overstepped time and time again. I want you out of my sight and out of the city.” 

The advisor gaped as he stared at the queen—unmoving. 

“Now.” 

When he continued to not move, two Unsullied marched to the back of his chair and yanked him to his feet as he sputtered over his next breath and panicked apologies soon followed—even after he was dragged out of the hall. 

Daenerys took a quiet but deep breath before letting another small smile push at her lips. “I apologize for the interruption. Now, I do not see why the Seven Kingdoms would not hold up their end of the agreement when Winter comes to Essos. I know House Martell honors their promises, even if previous generations of House Targaryen was not worthy of them.” 

And then Oberyn’s fingers tightened on Y/N’s thigh for his own comfort. But Daenerys’ sentiment was genuine. 

“We will provide for each other—as friends and allies across the Narrow Sea.” 

Oberyn, Ellaria, and Y/N each grabbed their chalices—filled with wine or juice—and raised them toward Daenerys. “To the Dragon Queen!”

**

The great hall of the Myrish palace was alive with music and dancing and the air smelled sweet with wine. Dorea and Loreza were currently each holding one of Y/N’s hands and they simply swayed to the music, almost on beat as Tyene teased them for lack of coordination as she spun around them on the arm of some nobleman who was already besotted. Obara and Elia were speaking with a handful of Unsullied near a table filled with honey cakes and persimmons while Obella and Oberyn danced—much more gracefully a few couples away. Sarella and Nymeria had, unsurprisingly, found their way to Daenerys’ side and the three were speaking as if they were old friends.

Y/N spotted Grey Worm gently take Missandei’s hand and lead her in a dance. It was good to see almost everyone enjoying the bit of festivities Daenerys had insisted upon. It was an oddly docile end to a slightly chaotic trip but she was happy to not have any other stressors—Ellaria had threatened to put her on bedrest until the baby was born if she fainted again. 

The song finished with a muted flourish and Y/N’s two partners darted away toward the honey cakes. Y/N was quickly offered a cup of juice—a blend Daenerys had been fond of when she was with child—and thanked the servant as she looked over the small crowd. Tomorrow they would sail for Pentos for a handful of days before making their way back to Dorne. Ships filled with food were already on the way to Westeros, bearing the seals of the Stormborn Empire. 

It was a triumph, to be sure. 

But she simply wanted to be back in Dorne, wrapped up in her familiar blankets and her husband and paramour’s arms, listening to the girls laugh in the halls as the waves crashed against the shore and her beloved hound napped near her feet. 

And it was a solace to know that it would be happening soon. She would not cut their trip short—seeing Pentos and bringing the girls to see it too was an adventure she knew needed to happen. 

“You look pensive, my moonlight,” Oberyn said, slinking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “It is a joyous night.” 

“It is,” she agreed, leaning into his grasp. Both of them noticed Ellaria, draped in a fiery red gossamer gown—a gift from Daenerys—was dancing with Gaelor. 

Gaelor smiled—just for a moment—at something Ellaria whispered in his ear. 

“She can rend smiles from stone,” Oberyn mused with a smile of his own. 

“You know, Robb could have simply sent Ellaria and Sarella for this—they are the true negotiators.” 

Oberyn’s chest rumbled with a poorly contained laugh. “True, my moonlight. But I am happy to have this adventure with you and Ellaria, with my girls.” He pulled her a little closer then made her sway to the music, a laugh bubbling from her throat. “Now, tell me. What has you brooding?” 

Y/N continued to sway with him and let her hands rest over his arms as they held her tight. “I miss Dorne. I miss home.” She paused and grimaced. “It sounds silly when I say it aloud.” 

Oberyn turned his face just enough to press his lips against her throat. “It is not silly. Wanting to return home is natural. Do you want to set sail-”

“No, no, my love. I want to see Pentos—as do the girls. I will not take that opportunity away. I doubt we will have a Stormborn escort if we return later. It is better to do it now—before we have another little one.” 

“If you are sure,” he said, face still tucked against her throat. 

“I am sure,” Y/N said with another squeeze to his arms as the music continued to play. “One more adventure before we welcome the newest little snake to our brood. It will be good. I know it.”

**

Pentos was beautiful—as Y/N knew it would be. Her mother and grandparents’ stories had filled her head with pictures of how it would look, what it would be like—what she would encounter. And she spent a few melancholy moments wondering if her mother walked the same streets as she did. She wondered if her grandparents would recognize the city as it was now, under Daenerys’ new rule.

But, yes, Pentos was beautiful. Fragrant with flowers and clean water and a bite of some spice Y/N could not name but recognized as it had clung to her grandmother’s dresses. The Magisters welcomed them into the city and made sure to house them in a palatial manse and were quick to get them anything they even glanced at while accompanying them throughout the bazaars. 

Oberyn found it both hilarious and irksome to be so coddled. 

“How am I supposed to ravish you in a dark city corner if we are being followed like disobedient children?” 

“I think they would like the show, my love,” Ellaria said with a laugh. 

Y/N snorted and shook her head. “You two are insatiable.” 

“You were the reason our breakfast was served cold this morning, my moonlight.” His fingers danced down Y/N’s spine before pinching her butt with a smirk. “But you will never hear me complain about feeling Ellaria’s warmth around me and your tongue on my-”

Y/N smacked at his chest and shushed him as a group of children rushed by. “You seemed to enjoy it, my prince. But I will not do it again if you tell everyone.” 

Ellaria laughed as Oberyn grinned wolfishly. “Every person in this Realm should know that I aim to please my lover and wife—no matter the hour.” 

“You can commission a song when we are back in Dorne—but let us have some air of mystery while we are here, hm?” Y/N patted his stomach with a grin of her own.

“We could have a song for you here, Princess!” One of the Magisters said, nearly begging in his tone. “Our bards are legendary!”

Ellaria did little to conceal her laugh which soon had Y/N in stitches, too. 

Yes, Pentos had changed. And perhaps she would want to visit again. But her mother had found a home in the Vale with her father. And Y/N had found a home in Dorne with Ellaria and Oberyn and their daughters. 

And it was time to go home.

**

“There are two.”

“Two?” Y/N repeated, pitch rising in tone. “Two babies?” Her hands pressed against her stomach—quickly followed by Gryves’ cold snout, as if he could help soothe something. “Are you certain?” 

The midwife nodded, a smile on her face. “You have been blessed.”

Y/N had wondered why her babe was constantly moving and kicking at her bladder and ribs at the same time—but it seemed they had conspired to move together.

“No wonder you are so irritable!” Obara dodged the slap Y/N aimed at her shoulder with a laugh. “Father is going to be pleased. An even ten.” 

“Why are you even here?” Y/N asked, fighting a smile. “You are supposed to be helping Dorea with her Morningstar!” 

“With Father and Ellaria away with Uncle Doran and Lady Daisy confined to her home with a cold, you know I wasn’t going to let you go to this alone.” 

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes so swiftly it caught her off-guard and all she could say was a meager, “thank you,” in response to Obara’s gruff kindness. 

“Don’t start crying—I’ll have to call Elia and you know she will only start crying, too. You know how excited she is for another little one—or two now, it seems.” 

Y/N sniffled and nodded, “Yes, I know.” Gryves, sensing more duress, placed his head in Y/N’s lap and his big, black eyes looked up at her in worry.

As the midwife quietly excused herself, Obara awkwardly but sincerely tried to console the whimpering pregnant woman at her side with a few soft pats to her shoulder. “They will be good children—little hellions with father’s eyes and your penchant for trouble.” 

“ _My_ penchant for trouble?” Y/N snorted through tears. “I am almost offended.” 

It had been a quick pregnancy, if Y/N was honest. The months had flown by in a whirlwind of well-wishes, gifts from the other kingdoms, and a myriad of emotions that seemed to fling from one extreme to the other within in moments on some days. All that could truly calm her—or the babes down—was Oberyn and Ellaria and they were off with Doran, planning to host Robb and Margaery to celebrate the coming of Spring after a blessedly short Winter. Y/N had wanted to travel to the Water Gardens, too, but had found riding on Qēlos to be uncomfortable and the poor mare seemed to sense her duress and would stop every few paces and look back at Y/N in the saddle before they both deemed it impossible to ride until the baby had been delivered.

“They will be home soon,” Obara said gently with a squeeze to her shoulder. “Before nightfall—but with how anxious they were to leave you, I would not be surprised if they arrived earlier.”

One of the babies suddenly kicked and Y/N winced. “I do hope you’re right.”

And, of course, Obara was correct. Ellaria and Oberyn were all but sprinting into their chambers, arms laden with more gifts from Doran and more Dornish lords and ladies who wanted to lathe their well-wishes on the soon-to-be-born Martell. But all of them were dropped unceremoniously on the ground near the door as soon as they entered. 

“My moonlight!” Oberyn nearly shouted before he dove onto their massive featherbed and pressed a quick kiss to her stomach before taking his time when his mouth reached hers, sighing against her lips. “We refuse to leave you again until the baby is born.” 

“We could not concentrate on anything poor Doran needed for this silly little party,” Ellaria said, also sliding into the bed and stealing a kiss from Y/N’s lips. “I thought we would come back to Sunspear to see you with a babe on your breast.” 

“You were gone for two days, my loves,” Y/N said with a small laugh, letting the pair continue to curl around her in the mess of blankets and pillows. “I would have sent someone if the midwife had said it was time.” 

Oberyn hummed and kissed at her shoulder. “Even so, we are not leaving your side again.” 

“But I do have news-”

“Is the baby healthy? What did the midwife say?” Ellaria asked in quick succession, hand splaying against Y/N’s stomach. 

Y/N huffed out another laugh and placed one hand over Ellaria’s before reaching out to grasp Oberyn’s hand, too. “The midwife seems to think that we have been blessed.” The matching looks of confusion on Ellaria and Oberyn’s faces had another laugh bubbling in her throat. “They are healthy—no need to worry. But, she did give me some news.” And because she loved teasing the pair just a bit, she paused and watched a flurry of emotions pass over both their faces before ending their torment. “There are two babies.” 

“Two?!” “TWINS?!” Oberyn and Ellaria’s voices reverberated in the room and had Y/N laughing like a drunkard until tears started to roll down her cheeks. 

“Yes! Two!” 

There was another shout that Y/N couldn’t quite understand but then two pairs of hands were pressing all over her stomach, followed by excited kisses and then her dressing gown was being pulled up to show her stomach and even more kisses were lathed against her warm skin. 

Between happy sighs, almost-chaste kisses, and words of wonderment, clothes were shed and discarded across the bed and floor and lingering touches became more ardent. Lips lingered. Tasted. And they once again found ecstasy in each other’s arms. Oberyn kissed between Y/N’s heaving breasts as he finished, and then kissed her lips, still tasting of Ellaria who was panting beside them, surrounded by the feathers that had been ripped from the pillows only a few moments prior. 

“You are a force of nature, my moonlight.” 

“A storm to behold,” Ellaria whispered, sliding closer to also steal a kiss between their lips.

Y/N smiled against his mouth and tugged at the mussed ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. “And you two helped unleash me unto the world. And now there will be two more.” 

Ellaria and Oberyn’s matching smiles took her breath away again for the umpteenth time that day as they gazed down at her. “And the world is theirs for the taking.”

**

Y/N knew the birth would be painful. She knew it could last days. Maesters and septas and midwives had all tried to tell her what this would entail—but nothing had prepared her for the frantic pacing of Oberyn or the gentle guidance of Ellaria as she sat at her side.

“You are nearly there, my love, I know it,” Ellaria cooed, pushing the sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. “You can do it.” 

She screamed with the last few pushes, hearing her blood roar in her ears and then…

“A girl!” Daisy said—it was quickly followed by, “and a boy!” 

“A boy?” Y/N asked, head swimming. She has not thought of the possibility of a boy. Oberyn always seemed to have girls—girls is what she had been expecting. Not a boy. A son. 

For a moment, Y/N panicked. 

But she looked at Oberyn as Daisy handed him his son and his face split into a smile, she knew she should have never doubted his love for his children—even for a second. “A boy. How you keep surprising me, my moonlight.” 

Her eyes drifted to Ellaria to see her cradling her baby girl with the same sweet smile even as the babe screamed and squirmed. “They are beautiful, my love,” Ellaria said softly. “Healthy.” 

“That’s all I wanted,” Y/N said, feeling the midwife finish her duties before gently taking the twins from Oberyn and Ellaria and handing them to Y/N, propping her up against a mound of pillows and then quietly excusing herself for a moment. Y/N cradled both babes to her chest, letting them press their round little cheeks to her skin as they opened their little mouths in matching yawns, tried from their journey into the world. 

“They need names, my moonlight.” 

“And they shall have them—but let me just look at them for a little longer.”

**

“Lewyn! Rohanne!”

“Coming mama!” Came the answering chorus from the orange groves.

Nearly five years had passed since she had brought the smallest Martells into the world. Five wondrous, exhausting years filled with tears, laughter, and change. 

The children called both Y/N and Ellaria ‘mama’ and Oberyn ‘papa.” Harmen Uller was their grandfather who spoiled them rotten, just as he did with Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza. The twins’ older sisters were also fond of making sure they had everything and anything their little hearts desired while Doran and Trystane doted on them as well.  
Gryves had taken to sleeping between their beds, a quiet sentinel who would often wake them up with licks to their tiny feet as the sun started to rise if he was not tucked away in Dorea or Loreza's rooms.

Patrek had come to Dorne to formally court Obara, much to her amused chagrin. They were married in a small ceremony and spent their time at Sunspear until the last vestiges of Winter had thoroughly melted—and promised they would return if there was even a brisk wind. 

Tyene and Nymeria found themselves invited to be part of Daenerys’ court in Essos, as part of the growing alliance between Westeros and her Empire. They wrote often and both seemed to have cultivated their own little kingdom there too, filled with beautiful men and women who loved to keep their ladies happy and who helped them rule over Qarth in Daenerys’ name. 

Sarella quickly became a powerful advisor at court in King’s Landing and had been named Mistress of Whispers on the Small Council for Robb and Margaery’s rule. Elia continued to train alongside her family’s guards and had even started competing in tourneys and unseating seasoned knights with her trusted lance. Oberyn and Ellaria always cheered the loudest when she was victorious. Obella took advantage of Robb allowing women to attend the Citadel and forged four links before, like her father, grew bored and then took the Dornish seat on the Small Council which Sarella had vacated. Dorea and Loreza were still managing to evade their septa and maesters during their lessons but mostly behaved themselves, maturing more each day. 

Daisy and Daemon had welcomed a little boy just a few moons ago and the happy, little family had taken to resting in their manse for a few weeks to enjoy the new babe. Sansa had recently married to a Northern lord and had welcomed Arya and Gendry back to Winterfell--along with their daughter. Robb and Margaery had recently celebrated their daughter's second birthday and announced that another heir was on the way to the delight of the realm.

Two little bodies slammed into Y/N’s legs and nearly leveled her, four tiny arms wrapping around her thighs and tangling with the ruby red fabric of her dress. Matching dark brown eyes stared up at her, sparkling in the sunlight—just like their father’s did. Both of them had streaks of blood orange juices across their cherubic cheeks and were probably staining her skirts, too. 

“I thought we promised to not sneak more oranges before meals, hm?” Y/N asked, wiping away a little bit from their skin. 

Gryves trotted up behind them, looking proud with a large stick between his teeth. 

“Well, Gryves went into the orchards, mama!” Rohanne said, plump bottom lip jutting out—a face she knew would allow her to get away with murder with her father. “We had to follow him to make sure he was safe.” 

“Last time, he almost fell in the pool,” Lewyn said, trying to bolster his sister’s argument. 

“He knows how to swim, my love. Better than you.” 

The twins looked at each other for a moment and then back up at their mother. “Do you want an orange?” Rohanne stuck her little hand into the folds of her dress and produced a blood orange nearly as big as her head like a peace offering. “We saved this one for you.” 

Y/N took it with a smile and bent to give each of them a kiss on a sticky cheek. “No lemon cakes tonight after supper.” 

“But _mama_!” They cried. 

“You two already had something sweet. You know the rules.” Y/N saw Rohanne starting to plot an argument but Lewyn nudged her and shook his head. He was the quieter of the two, happy to follow his sister’s lead in most situations but also knew when to play the long game, knowing how to pick his imaginary battles when Rohanne wanted to pick all of them. They were quite the pair—and Y/N would not change them for all the gold in the world.

“My little vipers!” Oberyn suddenly swooped in and hauled the twins into his hold kissing all over their cheeks as they squealed and giggled before pausing. “You taste of blood oranges.” 

“Sneaking sweets again?” Ellaria laughed as she stepped to Y/N’s side and kissing her softly. 

“They taste good, mama!” Rohanne said with another pout, turning in her father’s grip to look at Ellaria. 

“I know they do, my love. But you eat too many and turn your stomach. There are rules for a reason.” 

“I told you they would notice,” Lewyn murmured, dark eyes cutting to his twin. 

Oberyn laughed and kissed them both on the cheek again before bending to let them down. “Go wash up before supper.” 

“Yes, papa!” They chimed before dashing away. 

The three watched them go, unknowing matching smiles on their faces. “They are going to be such a handful when they’re older.” 

“I have no doubt they’ll follow in our footsteps.” 

Ellaria chuckled and kissed Oberyn and Y/N’s cheeks. “We have a great many adventures ahead of us still, my loves. But first we have to get them to eat dinner.”

And the three slowly walked back toward the palace, listening to their children's laughter ring in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, folks! thanks for sticking with me! Please tell me what you think! xx

**Author's Note:**

> All right...so, that’s part one. I’ve tried to draw on a few plot lines from the books that didn’t make it into the television series, but if you have any questions, please just ask. I welcome feedback. The next chapter will (hopefully) be shorter and out soon. Cross your fingers. And I haven't forgotten about my Mando/Reader series. I'm working on the next chapter, too!


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